


Blood Hounds

by charlottesweb



Category: Claymore, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Шерлок Холмс | Sherlock Holmes (TV 2013)
Genre: Crossover Claymore, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 34,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1812754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottesweb/pseuds/charlottesweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new client comes to Baker Street. She is mysterious, beautiful and dangerous. She also isn't human, she is a Claymore, in search of a Golem that escaped from her world. Since, Clare's tracking abilities are not as strong in London she consults the world's greatest detective, Sherlock. Unknowingly, John and Sherlock become locked in the most sinister chase of their lives, fraught with evil and creatures from another world. Will John and Sherlock be able to assist the Claymore, who calls herself Clare, or will they be victims of a struggle that was initiated long ago?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dangerous Client

**Author's Note:**

> There is a fanvid that matches this on youtube. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6-w5EdrVm8

John looked at the potential client that Sherlock was interviewing and thought that she was the strangest person he had ever seen. She was tall, with white hair that had a silver glow to it. However, she was young, so was this silver hair color a new fad?  Her eyes had an uncanny glow to them. What color were those eyes?” John thought as he shivered. As if reading his mind the young woman turned around and looked at John. “My name,” she said calmly, “is Clare.”

Sherlock leaned forward in his seat. “So, Clare what brings you here? Talk and please be quick I bore easily.”

Clare’s lips turned up in an attempt to smile. “I’ve heard that in the past you and your companion John Watson have had dealings with a Golem.”

Sherlock shrugged. “So, that was ages ago. What does it matter now?”

Clare leaned forward, moving her face so close that she was almost touching Sherlock’s nose. “Sherlock, I need you to help me find the Golem. My tracking abilities are somewhat limited in your world, so I require assistance. I was told you are the best detective in the city, is that a fact, Sherlock?” The tone of her voice was soft and musical, yet no one could doubt that it conveyed power.

The room grew so quiet that John could hear the traffic noise from outside. Mrs. Hudson’s  muted laughter also drifted in from somewhere. Sherlock was the first to break the silence. “We’ll take the case.”

Clare lips curved up in a thin smile.  “I anticipated that would be your response.” She then stood up, turned around and headed for the door.

John hurried after her. “Wait, how do we get in touch with you?”

Clare made a low crackling noise in her throat. Though it was supposed to be laughter, it gave John the creeps. “Dr. Watson, I will contact you.” Then she quietly left.

John rounded on Sherlock. “Are you kidding me? That was the creepiest woman I have ever met. Are we in the freaks of nature business now?”

Sherlock glanced at John, and then looked away. “John, I am surprised at your lack of compassion. Clare is desperate and she is definitely very far away from home.”

 

 


	2. John's Scent of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sherlock and John get further embroiled in the search for the Golem, John discovers something terrible in Sherlock's past. In the meantime, John's senses have become enhanced, so that he can track the scent of blood like a hound.

John tossed and turned in his sleep tormented by his dreams. The intensity of the nightmare finally jolted John awake. He gasped and tried to shake off the feeling he was being stalked. A knock on his door brought John fully into the present.

“John, are you alright?” Sherlock’s muffled voice instantly made John relax.

John got off the bed and answered the door. Sherlock pushed his way into the room and searched John’s face. Nightmares had plagued John ever since Sherlock had known him. “Are you having nightmares about Afghanistan again?” Sherlock tried to make his query nonchalant; however, the worry for John made Sherlock’s voice slightly higher than usual.

John ran his hand through his sweat soaked hair. “The dreams weren’t about Afghanistan. Demons were chasing me, horrible monsters with glowing eyes. Well, it all sounds kind of silly now that I’m awake.” A loud crash of thunder rattled the windows of the flat, making it seem as if someone were desperately trying to get it. Lightening illuminated the room, making familiar objects look sinister and foreign.

Sherlock held out his hand to John. “Come back to bed with me. Why didn’t you come in with me in the first place?” Sherlock’s voice had an annoyed flat tone.

John sighed. “I got in late and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Sherlock leaned his head to one side.  “And this isn’t disturbing me?” Another clap of thunder made John want to dive under the covers.  Sherlock swatted John on the butt. “Get to bed John Hamish Watson.” As Sherlock pushed open his bedroom door, his white Afghan dog Confetti nudged his way past John, jumped on the bed and burrowed his head under the covers. Each bolt of thunder brought a howl from Confetti that sent shivers down John’s spine.

Sherlock jumped in bed and held the covers up for John. John willingly slipped in beside Sherlock. In a few moments John forgot his nightmare as Sherlock encircled him in an embrace. “John, where were you, tonight?” Sherlock murmured.

John hesitated before he answered. “I tried to follow Clare. Sherlock, there is something not quite right about her. I traced her as far as China town, and then she just vanished into thin air.”

Sherlock stiffened. “John, please promise you will never do something that foolish again. Clare, is not what she seems, however, I don’t think she means us any harm. Just the same John, please don’t follow her again.”

The sound of torrential rain and crashing thunder filled the room. “Sherlock, what aren’t you telling me?” John asked softly.

Sherlock turned his face away from John. “Do you remember when Clare told us that her family had been killed and that she had been taken along with the killers and raped and used as a play thing? Well, John, that’s when I made up mind that we should assist her. No matter what Clare became after her experiences, she is still a damaged creature that needs our help.” Pain was etched on Sherlock’s features as he turned back around to face John.

John studied Sherlock’s expression for a moment and then the truth began to dawn on him. “Oh God, Sherlock, is one of the reasons you are emphatic to her cause, is that you know how she feels?” Sherlock answer me. “Have been…abused…raped?”

By this time tears were pouring down Sherlock’s cheeks. “John, it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.”

John ran his hand over Sherlock’s back. “Sherlock, tell me what happened. I want to know.” John continued to stroke Sherlock’s back as he spoke to Sherlock as if he were a frightened child.

Sherlock drew in a deep breath. “John, when we first made love, I told you that I hadn’t had sex with another person, willingly, that was true. I was raped in prison when I was in Eastern Europe. Mycroft put a stop to it as soon as he was able, however, he couldn’t act too concerned lest he compromise my cover. That time wasn’t too bad. The first time was the worse.” Sherlock gulped and continued on. “I was fourteen and home for the holidays. My parent’s had left the house on a weekend getaway and I was alone in the house with Mycroft and some of his friends. Mycroft left to get more beer and cigarettes and I went down to the kitchen to rummage around for something to eat. When I walked into the kitchen one of Mycroft’s friends commented on how beautiful my curls were.

Another one stood in front of me. “God, he looks so fresh and sweet. I bet he’s as tight as a drum.”

The tallest of the six came over and grabbed me by the front of his shirt. “Well, there’s only way to find out.” They laughed as they held me down and ripped off my clothes, bent me naked over the kitchen table and each took a turn over and over again. They were like Sharks on a feeding frenzy, the more I begged for mercy, the more excited they became. When they were done with me they just left me there whimpering on the kitchen floor. I was in so much pain I could hardly move.”

Sherlock was openly weeping by now. John held him close and shed tears with him. “What did Mycroft say?”

Sherlock sniffed. “I never told him. John, I was ashamed. For many years I felt sure I must have done something to deserve it.”

John took an edge of the sheet and wiped Sherlock’s tears. “My poor darling, Sherlock, tell me who they are and I will make sure that they will regret ever being born.”

Sherlock shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. John, please make love to me. Make me forget them. Take me; let me feel you inside me. The deeper you penetrate me physically and mentally, the more I feel the memories that have branded me for some many years dissipate. John, you are the other half of my broken spirit. John Hamish Watson, you found me just in time and I will cherish your love all through this life and the next, forever, John, forever.”

John kissed the tears that poured down Sherlock’s face and began to caress his chest and stomach. John didn’t want to be too rough with Sherlock after such a revelation and he was hesitant to touch him. Sherlock smiled and took John’s hand. John’s hand was shaking as Sherlock placed it in between his legs. John had never had such an intense sexual experience has he and Sherlock took each over and over. However, as much as the physical intimacy drew them together, it was the emotional bond that fused their souls as one. That night for better or worse Sherlock and John formed a bond that couldn’t be broken by anything on heaven or earth.

The next morning Sherlock shook John awake. “John, I got a text from Lestrade, there’s been a murder in China town, and John the only witness told the police that the murderer was a giant.”

John hurriedly got dressed and ran downstairs. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Clare quietly standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “Jesus, Clare, you scared the hell out of me.” Clare smiled and John felt as if she could read his mind.

The cab ride over to the murder scene was quiet. Clare, John, and Sherlock each remained immersed in their own thoughts until the cab stopped. As usual John paid the fare. As John got out of the cab he was overwhelmed by a putrid smell. “God, what is that odor?” John said as he gagged and sat down at the curb.

Clare was the first to approach him. “John, you smell the scent of the Golem.”

John gagged again and looked up at Sherlock and Clare. “The smell of the Golem?”

Clare’s silver eyes appeared to shine a little brighter. “John, what you smell is human blood. That is the scent of the Golem.”

John looked frightened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Clare didn’t blink as she stared back at John. “John, you are a Doctor. You have always been able to smell human blood. That is partly what influenced you to become a Doctor in the first place. Your contact with me has enhanced this ability. I will explain later when we are alone. Lieutenant Lestrade is coming over.”

Lestrade came over motioning to Sherlock and John. “Hey, you two, the body is over here.”

John wondered how Sherlock was going to explain Clare, but when he turned around she was gone. God, that was irritating. How did she do that? Sherlock brushed past John and began to examine the body. Sherlock bent down circled the body and sniffed, then stood up.

“Your witness is correct; the man who strangled the victim was at least 2.5 meters tall. As you can see the man’s windpipe has been crushed. The bruising from the killer’s thumb prints are in and down, which would indicate that he was much taller than the victim.  Our victim was a baker judging from the faint dusting of flour on his hands, hence the fact that he was killed around 3am, which would correspond with the fact that most bakers start warming up their ovens at this time. The baker was also not the Golem’s target. There is no sign of a struggle and judging from the cigarette butts on the ground and the yellow stains of nicotine on his fingers, this man had come out to have a smoke and saw something he shouldn’t have. In another words he got in the way. What about the witness?”

Lestrade shrugged. “We got an anonymous call from a burner phone, so we have no idea who the witness is.”

Sherlock chewed on the inside of his cheek. “We’ve got to find that witness.” Sherlock grabbed John’s arm. “Come on John; let’s get back to the flat. I have an idea.” Without another word Sherlock and John got into the next available cab and left.

Lestrade shook his head as they left. God Sherlock was annoying prick sometimes.

On the way back to the flat John’s head began to ache. Everything seemed so bright, noises were amplified, and the smell of copper lingered in the back of his mouth. John barely let the cab come to a stop as he jumped out ran up the stairs to the bathroom. Sherlock and Clare looked at each other as the sounds of John’s retching reached them in the entry hallway. Sherlock hurried up the stairs to the bathroom. The door was open and John was kneeling on the floor with his head over the toilet. He gasped for air as vomit poured out of his mouth and nose. Sherlock ran over, grabbed a washcloth, soaked it with cold water and sat beside John, bathing his forehead as John began to shake from the dry heaves. John tried to control his breathing, his stomach had begun to cramp and John curled up on the floor clutching at his abdomen.

Sherlock cradled John in his arms and held him close. Clare stood in the doorway watching them both. She paused and then spoke. “I know what ails Doctor Watson. The pain will soon pass. John your senses have been heightened, it will take some time for you to adjust. I can help you.”

Clare kneeled down beside John and Sherlock, ignoring the puddles of vomit that soaked her knees.  She took John’s head between her hands and put her forehead and against John’s. John’s breathing gradually returned to normal. He looked at Clare in wonder. “The headache is gone. How did you do that?”

Clare spoke softly. “John, I need you to look at Sherlock and me and tell me what you see.” John did as Clare instructed and gasped. Sherlock had a faint pink glow around his head; the rest of his body was lit with varying colors. When John looked at Clare he only saw a black glow.

John looked terrified. “What have you done to me?”

Clare shook her head sadly. “John, I have only helped you to control the pain. Your senses have gone beyond fight or flight. The colors you see are auras of each individual’s energy levels. You are what we call a blood hound. I am not sure how, but somehow my close proximity has activated these abilities. As a Doctor and a soldier you are naturally predispositioned to take on these characteristics.”

Sherlock held John in a tight, protective embrace. Whatever happened he would keep John safe.


	3. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock went numb with shock when John pulled out his sword and began to cut the gang member down. Sherlock couldn't tell whether the man was screaming for mercy or just screaming, however, the site that froze Sherlock with horror was the site of John reveling in the kill. John’s eyes were full of lust as he let the blood from the dying man’s throat spray all over him. Sherlock sank to the ground in despair, trying to shut out the crazed look on John’s face.

John listened to the rain pounding against the window; he lay back to back with Sherlock. Their spines were aligned one against the other and John loved how their vertebrates fit perfectly together.  No matter what happened Sherlock was home. John rolled over and traced his finger down Sherlock’s back and he marveled at how beautiful Sherlock was his skin so fine and white, like polished ivory. Sherlock stirred and rolled over to face John. He smiled back with a sleepy grin on his lips. The moonlight from the window illuminated Sherlock’s body and John gasped as he noticed the different colors all over Sherlock. “They must mean something,” John thought as he studied Sherlock. He noticed several maroon colored areas and as John leaned closer he realized that the maroon colored areas must be Sherlock’s erogenous spots. John knew several of them already; however, he was surprised to find a glowing maroon section just slightly above Sherlock’s armpit. John decided to test his theory, he edged closer to Sherlock, and began to gently kiss and lick the maroon glow on Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock immediately responded to John’s touch by shivering and shifting his body so that John could reach the spot with less difficulty. John began to look for other maroon colors on Sherlock. One by one he found them and gently kissed them. As John moved his tongue in around Sherlock’s belly button. Sherlock gasped and grabbed onto the sheets tightly and then as John moved lower, Sherlock thought he was going to lose his mind.

“John , oh God, John wherever did you learn where….” His voice trailed off as John’s tongue found another spot. Sherlock felt the area in between his loins begin to tighten. John was taking his time and Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was pleasure or torture. John pushed Sherlock’s legs open a little wider, so that he had more room to maneuver. Sherlock’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes glazed over as John took him to the brink of sanity and back.

John loved bringing Sherlock to a climax. Sherlock, his aloof detective, lost his composure little by little, begging John not to stop. “Sherlock, I love you,” John whispered as Sherlock lay panting in his arms with his head leaned back and his mouth open gasping for air. Though Sherlock appeared to be spent, he surprised John by grabbing the hair on the back of his head to move him closer. When Sherlock began to kiss John, his lips parted to make room for Sherlock’s firm tongue. John guided Sherlock to all the maroon spots he could see on his own body and when Sherlock finally reached in between John’s legs, John was bracing his feet against the mattress, arching and writhing, like he was having some kind of sex seizure. His release when it came was so great that John screamed, “SHERLOCK.” John shook all over as he lay in Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock pushed back the damp hair that had plastered itself to John’s forehead. John loved how Sherlock liked to cuddle after sex. Sometimes he would speak to John in Italian or French. John didn’t know Italian or French, however, he knew from the tone of Sherlock’s voice that they were terms of endearment.

John was just about ready to drift off to sleep in Sherlock’s arms, when he felt Clare’s presence in his mind. It wasn’t like she could read his thoughts; however, John felt a strong urgency like a summons. John sighed put on a robe and quietly opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Clare was there, her eyes glittering in the light like a wild animal. John sighed in irritation.

“Clare, what do you want?” John whispered.

“Dr. Watson, it’s time to go hunting.” Clare whispered back, her voice was low and grating like the wind that howled outside.

“Just let me take a shower,” John growled.

Clare sniffed John, in a long inhale and John felt his face flush. “Dr. Watson, you smell of sex and blood lust. I hardly think that will bother the Golem. Come on let’s go while the trail is fresh, I need you to help me track the scent.”

“Fine,” just let me get dressed. “Or does the Golem want me naked?” John snapped.

Clare made a noise that was supposed to be laughter; however, John thought it sounded more like hissing. He hurried to his room got dressed, and pulled out a sword he had bought in China Town. John had the sword sharpened, so that it could cut silk. He slipped the sword back in its scarab, and then he adjusted it on his back so that the sword could quickly be drawn, if need be. He took a glance at himself in the mirror, there was an unmistakable glow to his cheeks from he and Sherlock’s love making, but there was something else too. Blood lust, the desire to slice the Golem’s head off, and feel the spray of blood on his face was a drive that was almost as powerful as the sex drive. Without another thought, John cleared his mind and met Clare in the hallway.

Sherlock was there too, and like a sleepy child he rubbed his eyes several times. “What’s going on? John, where are you going?” Sherlock asked as he yawned.

John answered first. “To hunt,” he said. His eyes glittered from excitement like Clare’s.

Sherlock came awake instantly, something was wrong. “Hold on, let me get dressed. I’m coming too.”

Sherlock got dressed and hurried to the hallway, it was empty. He ran to the window and Sherlock was just in time to see John and Clare getting into a cab.  Clare’s head was peeking out of one window, sniffing the air, and John’s head was out the opposite window sniffing. For a moment he looked in Sherlock’s direction, and then he looked away and motioned the cab to go on.

Sherlock felt icy cold, as he trudged down the stairs and out into the rain. He hailed a cab and headed in the direction of China town.  On the way there Sherlock felt as if his whole world was coming apart. John was beginning to turn into someone he didn’t recognize. The cab stopped and deposited Sherlock at his destination. It had finally stopped raining and every sound on the street echoed. The click of the cab door shutting reverberated off the buildings like the sound of a garbage truck on trash day. Sherlock made his way to where the last body had been. There was nothing there, then Sherlock heard the noise of a struggle somewhere nearby. Sherlock made his way towards the noise and was just in time to see an Asian gang member trying to choke Clare. She struggled as John tried to help her. Sherlock could tell by the way her body was starting to sag that she was going to lose consciousness soon.  Just before she was ready to collapse, Clare changed. Her body became thick, her hair thin wild wisps, eyes glowing she hacked at the gang member until there was blood spray everywhere. Another gang member tried to attack John, but he was ready for him. Sherlock went numb with shock when John pulled out his sword and began to cut the gang member down. Sherlock couldn’t tell whether the man was screaming for mercy or just screaming, however, the site that froze Sherlock with horror was the site of John reveling in the kill. John’s eyes were full of lust as he let the blood from the dying man’s throat spray all over him. Sherlock sank to the ground in despair, trying to shut out the crazed look on John’s face.


	4. John's Black Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clare stood beside John. “John, do you remember the conversation we had in the cab?” John nodded, not making eye contact. Clare’s eyes mirrored grief. “John, you need to decide who you are going to give your black card to.” Without hesitation John reached into the pocket of his robe and handed the black card to Sherlock. Sherlock took the card; it was still warm from the heat of John’s body. His Doctor, friend, lover, his heart, had handed him a black card. If John realized his potential and awakened as a killer similar to a Yoma, Sherlock was obligated to kill him.

Sherlock sat in his chair taking deep breaths; he had to be calm when John and Clare came home. The front door opened and Sherlock could hear them coming up the stairs. John came around the corner first. Sherlock waited the few seconds it would have taken him to notice John’s blood spattered appearance and then he pushed himself out of the chair.

“John, what happened? Are you alright?” Sherlock checked John for injuries, hoping that John found his response appropriate.

John waved Sherlock away. “I’m fine. Clare and I ran into a little trouble with a Chinese gang. We didn’t even catch sight of the Golem.” John sighed. “Well, maybe next time. Clare go ahead and hit the shower first.”

Clare looked from Sherlock to John and without a word she left. After Clare was gone Sherlock walked over to where John stood. “John, what’s going on?” Sherlock hoped that John would tell him everything so that together they could find out what was happening to John.

“Everything’s fine, Sherlock, you worry too much. Clare told me her secret on the way to China town. She also informed me that you already knew about her being only partially human, which would have been nice to know before I saw her change into her other form. It was frightening, yet magnificent. Clare has agreed to let me take some blood samples from her, so that I can study the Claymore.”

Sherlock spoke softly, his words coming out as a melodic whisper. “John, does she have any idea why you are taking on Claymore characteristics?”

John shrugged. “Who knows, I don’t feel any different, so what does it matter? Once we find the Golem, Clare can go back home and nothing will have changed. Sherlock, why all the questions? What’s bothering you?”

If John hadn’t been covered in blood, Sherlock would have reached out and held him close. John frowned slightly.

“Sherlock, talk to me, what’s wrong?” John asked. His voice had an edge to it that Sherlock knew well. Now was not the time to talk to John about this. They made small talk until Clare gave John the all clear sign that the shower was free.

John let the warm water run over him, the dried blood washed away in brownish rivulets down the shower drain. Once he was clean he grabbed his robe and almost ran to jump in bed with Sherlock.

John was still damp as he threw off his robe and snuggled his naked body closer to Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock, I know you’re not asleep.” John whispered. There was no reply from Sherlock. “No matter,” John thought. “I know how to get him to respond.” John searched Sherlock’s body until he found one of Sherlock’s maroon colored erogenous zones. John eased closer to Sherlock and began to gently rub towards the end of his spine. Sherlock’s body tensed. John smiled,” Of course Sherlock was awake,” he thought as he wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s body. “Sherlock, where are you? Time to come out and play Doctor and Detective,” John crooned in a sing song voice, as he gently laid his hand on Sherlock’s pelvis. Sherlock’s body quivered in response to John’s touch. As John’s movements became more insistent, Sherlock gasped, he could stand it no longer. “Who the hell cares what John is becoming?” Sherlock thought as John moved his body closer, so that they could fit together as one. Making love with John was always pleasurable; however, something was different this time. It was as if John were able to monitor Sherlock’s vital signs, so that he could elicit the maximum physical response from Sherlock.

“John, what are you waiting for? I’m really starting to feel uncomfortable.” Sherlock gasped, as he forced himself up against the head board of the bed.

John laughed. “Sherlock, trust me I’m a Doctor. Although it does get me off when you beg.”

Sherlock felt as if he were going to hyperventilate. “John, for God’s sake I’m begging. I’m going to explode.”

“Sherlock, just hang on, I assure you it will be worth the wait.” John commanded in his military voice.

When John finally helped him release, Sherlock felt as if he was going to faint. John was barely out of breath as he straddled Sherlock’s sweat drenched body. “Sherlock, I love you. Does your Doctor know best?”

Sherlock was unable to talk for a few moments. “Yes, Doctor. John, you hold my heart, take care of it John Hamish Watson.” Sherlock panted.

John grabbed his arms so tightly that Sherlock yelped. “Sherlock, I would die for you a million times over. I would disembowel myself with my sword, I would poke my eye out, I would …” John’s voice trailed off as he tickled Sherlock. “Come on world’s greatest detective, stop the dramatics.”

Sherlock resisted for a moment, then laughed and snuggled closer to John. “John, I don’t want this to be one sided, however, I’m not sure if…”

John interrupted Sherlock. “Rest, Doctor’s orders and I will lay here thinking of a way for you to pay me back.”

Sherlock felt his whole body go limp. John was fine, everything was fine, after all the alley where he had seen John and Clare battling the gang, was dark. Sherlock lulled himself to sleep with the thought that he must have been mistaken about John. John was still his sweet loving Doctor, nothing was wrong with him.

Sherlock was awakened by a shriek and the sound of shattering glass. John was already out of bed in his robe, with sword in hand.

“John, wait for me.” Sherlock yelled to no avail, John was already downstairs. When John got downstairs, the front door was kicked in and Mrs. Hudson lay cowering in a corner. The Golem towered over her, and then turned around as John entered the foyer.

“I heard you were looking for me.” The Golem hissed.

John stood in battle stance, not even feeling the wood shards from the door as they cut into his bare feet. The Golem laughed and pulled a giant mace out of a bag that was slung over his shoulder.

“Come on small warrior. Give way to the awakening that courses through your body. I will let you enjoy the pleasure for a moment before I kill you.” The Golem roared and swung the mace at John’s head.

John parried with his sword, miraculously he kept his balance, as he sliced at the Golem’s knees. Sherlock stood transfixed. There was no way John should be fast enough to block that attack, yet somehow he did. Sherlock stumbled against the wall, as Clare shoved past him to assist John. Her monstrous transformation took place as she battled the Golem. The Golem slashed into her abdomen with the metal prongs on the end of the mace. Even though the wound bleed profusely, Clare kept fighting as if she didn’t notice. John crept up behind the Golem. The Golem realizing he was outnumbered slammed his elbow into John and ran through the shattered entranceway. John fell to the ground like a rag doll. Sherlock had his arms around Mrs. Hudson to protect her. For moment no one moved. A dog barked and howled in the distance. Clare was the first one to get up; she walked over and took John’s pulse.

“He has just been knocked unconscious, he will be fine,” Clare stated in a flat tone as if she were reading a shipping forecast.

John stirred and opened his eyes. Sherlock was by his side in an instant. “John, John, speak to me.” Sherlock commanded.

“I’m fine,” John said as he winced at the pain he was beginning to feel from his injuries.

Mrs. Hudson came and stood by Sherlock’s side. “Sherlock, what is going on?”

Sherlock felt his hands start to shake. “I don’t know.” His normally placid, bored, expression was twisted in fear.

Clare stood beside John. “John, do you remember the conversation we had in the cab?” John nodded, not making eye contact. Clare’s eyes mirrored grief.  “John, you need to decide who you are going to give your black card to.” Without hesitation John reached into the pocket of his robe and handed the black card to Sherlock. Sherlock took the card; it was still warm from the heat of John’s body.  His Doctor, friend, lover, his heart, had handed him a black card. If John realized his potential and awakened as a killer similar to a Yoma, Sherlock was obligated to kill him.

 


	5. Forever Bonded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clare stopped short of going in the living room when she heard the unmistakable sounds of Sherlock and John’s love making. A tear slid down her cheek, as she contemplated the evil that would consume John. John’s destruction would be Sherlock’s destruction and the world would be a darker place without them.

Sherlock looked at the black card in his hand as if it were a poisonous viper. John walked over and covered Sherlock’s hand with his own. “Sherlock, “John said softly,” it’s going to be alright. Give me the card back. I will only give to you if I need to.” Sherlock swallowed and handed the card back to John. Sherlock’s phone rang and everyone jumped but Clare.

Sherlock pulled the phone out of his pocket and read the text. “SH there have been two more murders in China town. Please come, GL.”

                                    At the Crime Scene

Sherlock looked down at the mutilated bodies of the Chinese gang members that Clare and John had killed. He could hardly believe that John had done such a thing. Sherlock pretended to look for clues even though he already possessed all the facts.

Lestrade grimaced, “Jesus, there’s not much left is there?”

Sherlock’s throat hurt so badly that all he could do was mutely nod. After a few moments Sherlock composed himself and cleared his throat. “It appears to be a rival gang assassination.”

Lestrade walked over and stood in front of Sherlock. “Is that it? You mean no analyzing, telling us what they ate for breakfast, whether the victims were right or left handed, how the tread was worn on their shoes, etc.?” 

John walked over and stood between Lestrade and Sherlock. “For God’s sake leave him alone, Lestrade. It’s just a couple of gang members, so who cares?” John looked down at the biscuit he was eating and smiled. “Sherlock, remind me to compliment Mrs. Hudson on these biscuits when we get home. I swear they are the best I’ve ever had.” John brushed some crumbs off his shirt looking from Sherlock to Lestrade. “What are you both staring at?”

Lestrade sighed. “John, I was hoping you would wear off on Sherlock, but it appears that he is wearing off on you. God help us, we only need one Sherlock.”

John shrugged. “I have no idea what you are getting at Lestrade and once more I simply just don’t care. Come on Sherlock, let’s go. I want some more of those biscuits.”

Sherlock nodded and walked over to the crime scene and took some photos with his phone. “I will look further into this matter Lestrade, however I think we can chalk it up to an episode of gang violence.”

John grabbed Sherlock by the arm, “Come on let’s go.”

Lestrade scratched his head as John and Sherlock left. “Now, that was bizarre,” Lestrade remarked aloud to no one in particular.

The cab ride home was pretty quiet. Sherlock was lost in his own thoughts until he felt John shift closer to him. John slid his hand under Sherlock’s thigh and whispered in his ear, “A penny for your thoughts, Detective.”

Sherlock was just about to move away from John, when John’s hand reached a spot that Sherlock couldn’t ignore. “John, we are in a cab for God’s sake,” Sherlock hissed.

John laughed. “The cabbie doesn’t care.” He then sighed with pleasure when he noticed that Sherlock’s trousers were noticeably tighter in the front than they had been. John leaned into Sherlock, and applied a little more pressure with his hand.

“Take off your coat, and hand it to me,” John ordered.

Sherlock took off his coat and meekly handed it over to John. John threw the coat over the front of Sherlock and unbuckled his trousers. Sherlock’s whole body jumped when he felt John’s hand reach inside and touch his bare skin. Sherlock leaned his head back against the seat. “John,” Sherlock breathed, as John’s motions became more aggressive. The world always seemed so far away when John aroused him. It was the one time Sherlock’s brain wasn’t going a thousand miles per hour. It was the one time he felt relaxed and God knows he needed to relax.

Sherlock barely noticed when the cab screeched to a halt. “Hey you two, what’s going on back there?” The cabbie shouted.

John leaned over the seat. “It’s okay I’m a doctor. His blood sugar is low and ….”

The cabbie interrupted. “Alright, you two get out.”

John leaned over the seat and grabbed the cabbie from behind. “I will not be responsible for this man’s welfare if you don’t let me attend to him.”

“Fine,” the cabbie said as he reached for his dispatch speaker. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

John jerked the wired walkie talkie device from its monitor.  “No ambulance.” John growled.

“Hey, get the hell out of my cab, or I’ll call the authorities.” For a moment it seemed as if John was going to snap the cabbie’s neck, then he took a deep breath.

“Sherlock, are you able to move?” John asked as he zipped up Sherlock’s trousers.

Sherlock still felt a little spacy. “Are we at Baker Street?” he asked drowsily.

“No, love,” John whispered in Sherlock’s ear. “It’s not too far though. Can you walk?”

Sherlock pulled his coat around him. Even though his eyes were glazed over he had enough sense to let John help him out of the cab.

John threw some money at the cabbie as he got out of the cab. With his other hand he steadied Sherlock. As the cabbie drove off.  John flipped him off. “Fuck you, you prick.” John took Sherlock by the arm. “Come on, you can’t walk home in your present state. Let’s go to the bathroom in there,” John said as he pointed to a Pub. Sherlock sat on the toilet as John touched the side of his face. “My poor Sherlock I ‘m sorry but I’m going to have to finish with you here in this unromantic place. Ah well, it can’t be helped.” John sighed.

Sherlock had tears in his eyes he was so uncomfortable. John squeezed himself behind Sherlock on the toilet seat, and then reached around with his hands to undo Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock’s face flushed, he didn’t want John to see him this way, he was a mess. “Ssh,” John cooed as he brought Sherlock to a climax. Sherlock was drenched in sweat as he leaned back in John’s arms. All of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him when John kissed the back of Sherlock’s neck.

“Sherlock, I love you,” John whispered as he caressed the side of Sherlock’s face. “Come on Detective, let’s go home.”

As soon as they got home, John ran a bath for Sherlock. Afterwards, John wrapped Sherlock in the bed covers. “Get some rest, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up at John, “John, don’t you need some rest as well?”

John’s eyes were bright with energy. “I’m not tired, Sherlock, but I will stay with you until you fall asleep.”

Exhaustion finally overwhelmed Sherlock, as he drifted off to sleep he glanced over at John. Were John’s eyes glowing, or was it just a trick of the light? Another thing where was the dog? Confetti always slept at the end of the bed. All these thoughts drifted away as Sherlock gave in to his need for sleep.

A few hours later Sherlock, awoke the room was empty and dark. Confetti lay at the bottom of his bed growling at John as he stood in the doorway.

“Confetti,” Sherlock admonished, “it’s John. Why are you growling?”

As John stepped further into the room, Confetti jumped off the bed and ran out into the hall. John called to Confetti. “Come on Boy, it’s me John.” Confetti whimpered and then ran and hid in the living room. John shook his head. “What the hell is wrong with that dog?”

Sherlock didn’t answer as he ignored his churning stomach.

Later that evening Clare, Sherlock, and John discussed their next plan for capturing the Golem. All three agreed that at midnight the hunt for the Golem would begin. Clare left the room, as John flopped down on the couch.

“Sherlock, do you think we are having too much sex?” John asked out of the blue.

Sherlock coughed. Before John, Sherlock never imagined having sex with anyone, now he was like a horney adolescent. All John had to do was glance his way and Sherlock would feel his groin stir. “John, you can never have too much of a good thing. Why do you ask?”

John smiled slyly at Sherlock. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. Sherlock, do you recognize the coat I’m wearing?”

Sherlock grimaced, he hated that coat, it was the coat that John had been wearing when Moriarty had rigged John with a body bomb. “John, you know I hate that coat. Get rid of it.”

John laughed. “I thought about it, and then I changed my mind. So you know why?”

Sherlock sighed. “You are going to tell me anyway, so why bother to ask?”

John eagerly stood before Sherlock. “Sherlock, when you got on your knees and took my jacket off, the physical desire for you actually made me dizzy, so much so, that I collapsed to the ground. Sherlock, do you remember?” John whispered.

Sherlock nodded. How could he forget the way John’s head had went back, his mouth open gasping for air, as Sherlock took off his jacket?”

John’s eyes glittered with excitement as he stood before Sherlock. “Sherlock, reenact that night. Get on your knees and take off my jacket, however, this time do what you wanted to do instead.”

Sherlock could hear his own heart hammering in his ears, as he got on his knees before John and slipped off John’s jacket. It was just like that night, however, this time Sherlock reached up and unbuckled John’s jeans. John could feel his chest tighten as Sherlock put his arms around John’s buttocks and slipped off his underwear. Sherlock, slowly and methodically eased John’s underwear down to his ankles, so that by the time John felt Sherlock’s breath on his bare skin, his whole body ached with need. John leaned back against the back of his chair to give Sherlock more maneuvering room. John’s pleasure was Sherlock’s pleasure and as Sherlock met John’s need he briefly reflected that it didn’t matter if he was the recipient or not. John’s look of ecstasy and satisfaction made Sherlock want to weep with joy. How did he ever manage to survive in this cold world without his Doctor?  It was at that moment that Sherlock knew that whatever the future brought the bond between himself and John would never be broken.

Clare stopped short of going in the living room when she heard the unmistakable sounds of Sherlock and John’s love making. A tear slid down her cheek, as she contemplated the evil that would consume John. John’s destruction would be Sherlock’s destruction and the world would be a darker place without them.


	6. Too Many Golem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock let John pull his body closer to that he would be able to sit up and yet still have John’s body against his back for support. Sherlock was out of breath from the small effort. “So, where is here?” he gasped.  
> John answered this time. “I have no idea. After we surrendered our weapons the Golem knocked us out too.”  
> All three prisoners made note of their surroundings. They were in what appeared to be an old brick dungeon, complete with iron bars, chains and manacles. Sherlock was surprised there wasn’t a skeleton or two lying around. He sighed. “Have our captors said what they want from us?” Sherlock asked.  
> John shook his head. “It appears that we are to rot down here.”

Sherlock watched John as he gathered up the last of his supplies that he would need for their tracking of the Golem. John’s body quivered with excitement at the prospect. He reminded Sherlock of a dog before the hunt. John turned around and smiled at Sherlock his eyes full of life and love. Sherlock swallowed and looked down at the ground. John’s love for him was a mystery that Sherlock would never be able to fathom. In his entire life Sherlock had never felt so strong and confidant. The flip side was that Sherlock had never felt so afraid; it was a type of fear that threatened to consume him at the thought of anything happening to John.

John pulled at Sherlock’s arm like a child. “Quit daydreaming, Sherlock. It’s time to go.”

Sherlock, John and Clare, crept out of 221b Baker Street and blended into the inky darkness of the night. It took a while to get a cab and when they all piled into the back seat; the cabbie looked like he regretted the decision to pick them up.

“I want part of my fare upfront,” the cabbie said as he nervously eyed John and Clare.

John shrugged and put some money into the cabbie’s hand and then he leaned back and put an arm around Sherlock and Clare. “Let’s give him something to talk about,” John laughed as he looked from Sherlock to Clare.

Sherlock wasn’t self-conscious at the impression that the cabbie would arrive at; however, he didn’t like being part of a game where he didn’t know the rules. Sherlock slipped out from underneath John’s arm. “I’ve got to think, John and I can’t with your arm around me.”

John slyly glanced at Sherlock from out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll just bet you can’t.”

Not wanting a repeat of their last cab ride, Sherlock scooted as far away from John as he could get.

John laughed. “Sherlock, for someone who is so brilliant, you don’t hide your intentions very well.”

Sherlock was starting to get angry. He didn’t like being teased, especially in front of Clare. “Stop it, John. You are beginning to annoy me and probably Clare too.”

Clare watched the exchange between John and Sherlock in silence. John still had his arm around Clare and started to come back with a pithy retort.

Sherlock cut him off. “John, just shut it, so that at least one of us can be productive.”

John goaded Sherlock more. “Aw, tisk, tisk, is somebody becoming like his brother Queen Mycroft?”

Sherlock could feel his face flushing, as he shouted back. “John, just shut the hell up, now.”

John shrugged looked over at Clare and leaned back against the seat. No one said a word until they arrived at China Town. The cabbie seemed relieved to be rid of them and drove off so quickly the cab’s tires squealed against the pavement. Once they were alone John and Clare each took a deep breath, looked at each other, and began to head deeper into the dark recesses of China Town. Sherlock hurried after them, feeling like a small child trying to keep up with his older siblings. They only had gone a few feet when a dark figure loomed out in front of them.

Clare was the first to react as she pulled her sword on the Golem “God, they were terrifying creatures,” Sherlock thought as he observed the height, and the grotesque facial expressions of the thing in front of them. John rounded on the creature next, slashing at its neck with his sword. Clare drove her weapon into the Golem’s kneecap and he went down with a groan. John rounded on him next, his eyes feverish with the thrill of the kill that was soon to be his.  Taking his sword in both hands John plunged it into the Golem’s throat. Thrusting his hips forward John buried his sword up to the hilt in the Golem’s neck.

Before the Golem breathed his last he shrieked at John. “You are too late, human.” The rest of the sentence was cut off by a gurgling sound and then the Golem lay silent.

Sherlock winced as John struggled to pull his weapon out of the creature. Then with a sickening crack the sword was John’s once again. John trotted over to Sherlock like a puppy, heedless of the gore that covered the front on his chest, and neck. It reminded Sherlock of the time that his dog Redbeard had brought a dead rabbit to Sherlock. Sherlock had been repulsed by the ripped up creature that Redbeard had so lovely laid at his feet. Sherlock had been about ready to scold Redbeard, and then Redbeard’s tail started to wag. Sherlock had looked down into the loving eyes of his dog and said, “Good boy, now let me get rid of this mess.” A slight scrapping noise brought Sherlock back to the present. John stood before him expectantly. Sherlock couldn’t help the tears that filled his eyes. “That was good John. I am very impressed.” Then just like Redbeard’s expression of love through his wagging tail, John expressed his love by throwing arms around Sherlock. John closed his eyes leaned closer to Sherlock and held him tight. Sherlock glanced at their reflection in a shop window a happy, white good luck cat figure waved back at them. Sherlock stared at the cat for a few seconds, something wasn’t quite right. “What is wrong with this picture?” Sherlock thought moments before he was knocked unconscious.

Sherlock stirred and winced at the shooting pain that encompassed his entire skull. Regardless of how much it would hurt Sherlock sat up and looked around him. Where were John and Clare? Sherlock felt gentle cool hands supporting his neck. Even before he spoke Sherlock knew it was John’s touch that supported him.

“Sherlock, easy, you probably have a concussion.” John whispered gently as he took Sherlock’s pulse.

Sherlock detested when individuals that had been knocked out sat up and invariably asked in a sing song voice,” What happened?” Despite it being a pet peeve that is exactly what Sherlock did as he sat up with John supporting him, “What happened?”

Clare answered from the corner. “We were ambushed by a group of Golem.”

Blinding pain and nausea threatened to overtake Sherlock as he proceeded with his inquiries. “Did you say a group of Golem?”

Clare nodded. “John and I had the situation under control, until one of them held a knife to your throat. Without hesitation John surrendered his sword.”

Sherlock didn’t doubt that John would surrender his sword to protect him, but Clare? Sherlock looked over at Clare. She was calm, cool, not a hair out of place. “Clare, you surrendered your sword too?” Sherlock asked skeptically.

Clare make a noise that Sherlock supposed was Clare’s form of laughing. “No, I wasn’t going to surrender my sword, however, John convinced me by holding a knife at my throat. Basically, he threatened to kill me in a slow tortuous way unless I did as your captors suggested.” Clare stared at Sherlock with irritation. “So, here we are.”

Sherlock let John pull his body closer to that he would be able to sit up and yet still have John’s body against his back for support. Sherlock was out of breath from the small effort. “So, where is here?” he gasped.

John answered this time. “I have no idea. After we surrendered our weapons the Golem knocked us out too.”

All three prisoners made note of their surroundings. They were in what appeared to be an old brick dungeon, complete with iron bars, chains and manacles. Sherlock was surprised there wasn’t a skeleton or two lying around. He sighed. “Have our captors said what they want from us?” Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. “It appears that we are to rot down here.”

Sherlock glanced over at Clare. Even though Claymore’s had little need for food, Sherlock had no doubt that she would not hesitate to eat the flesh off of his dead body if she needed subsidence. For a moment no one said anything each lost in their own reflections of their current situation. Sherlock was about to ask another question, when they all three heard the door from the top of the stairs slowly creaking open.

 


	7. The Four Horsemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock shook his head. “I know John won’t hurt me, just please help me restrain him.”  
> John struggled against Clare and Sherlock and then he pulled himself off the woman and grabbed Sherlock by the throat and threw him to the ground. John wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s throat and began to choke him. “I have three seconds before I lose consciousness,” Sherlock thought as he struggled for air. “John, please stop,” Sherlock rasped.  
> John almost seemed to get a perverse delight as he tightened his hands around Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock turned his head to the side in an effort to get air. “John, please come back. I love you,” Sherlock coughed.

As the door shrieked on its hinges, John, Sherlock, and Clare all crouched in fighting positions. Two armed Asian men that looked as if they both had injected a case of steroids made their way down the steps. In contrast a small Asian woman walked in between them with what appeared to be food.

“Well, at least they’re not going to starve us,” Sherlock thought.

The Asian woman timidly put down a pot of rice and chicken, in her other hand she awkwardly balanced three bowls and a huge bottle of water.

Sherlock eyed the jug, “Maybe it was Vodka, now that’s a comforting thought”. Sherlock mused. John looked over at Sherlock, with the “let’s take them glance” as he quietly eased himself along the wall to where the two guards stood. Clare was three steps ahead of them, as she did an ankle sweep to the heel of one of the guards. Once he was down she choked him out until he lost consciousness. John still struggled with his guard as the Asian woman whimpered and crawled into a corner. Clare ran over and quickly knocked the guard’s feet from underneath him. Sherlock made a mental note to ask Clare how she executed the ankle sweep so quickly.

John had managed to get the guard’s gun and he pistol whipped the man until he was unconscious. Sherlock thought he would stop pummeling the man once he was inert, however, John continued to beat the man’s face with his bare fist.

Sherlock ran over to where John was beating the guard senseless. “John, stop you are going to kill him.” Sherlock shouted. John didn’t even turn to look at Sherlock as he continued with his grim task.

The Asian pulled on John’s arm, “Stop, please.” She sobbed. John stopped and turned to where the Asian woman stood.  The back of his hands dripped with blood as John grabbed the Asian woman by the front of her blouse. Without a word he savagely ripped her blouse open. Buttons scattered everywhere as John threw her to the ground. The Asian woman fought and struggled as John ripped her blouse off the rest of the way. John ignored her pleas for mercy as he jerked off her bra. John was reaching down to work her pants off when Sherlock finally recovered from his initial shock and ran over to assist the woman.

“John, what are doing?” Sherlock yelled as he attempted to pull John off the woman. Clare was also pulling at John.

Clare’s breath was coming out in gasps as she attempted to stop John. “Sherlock, I am going to have to kill him. He is only going to get stronger. Can’t you see?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I know John won’t hurt me, just please help me restrain him.”

John struggled against Clare and Sherlock and then he pulled himself off the woman and grabbed Sherlock by the throat and threw him to the ground. John wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s throat and began to choke him. “I have three seconds before I lose consciousness,” Sherlock thought as he struggled for air. “John, please stop,” Sherlock rasped.

John almost seemed to get a perverse delight as he tightened his hands around Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock turned his head to the side in an effort to get air. “John, please come back. I love you,” Sherlock coughed.

For a second John fantasized what it would feel like to crush Sherlock’s windpipe. The realization of what he was doing finally dawned on John and he let go of Sherlock. “Sherlock, what have I done?” John cried as he gently helped Sherlock sit up.

Sherlock gagged and coughed for a few seconds as he tried to control his breathing. John smoothed his hand along the back of Sherlock’s head. “Sherlock, please are you okay?”

Sherlock nodded shakily. “John I’m fine.” Sherlock barked in a tone a few decibels lower than his own. Clare was in the corner putting her cloak around the half-naked Asian woman. When John stood up the Asian woman began to whimper again.

“Please, keep him away from me.” She cried as she pointed to John.

John began to speak softly. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t myself. I’m a Doctor, I don’t hurt people.”

The Asian woman clutched Clare’s cloak further around her body. “Keep away from me.” She hissed.

Sherlock walked over to where the Asian woman and Clare were. “What is your name?” Sherlock asked softly.

“My name is An,” She answered Sherlock tentatively.

“An something is happening to make John this way.” Sherlock said as he pointed to where John stood.

An nodded, “It is because a portal to another world has been opened and the four horsemen and the Golem have come to destroy all that is good.”

Sherlock frowned. “What are you talking about? Explain, please.” He demanded.

An wiped her tear stained face on the edge of Clare’s cloak and took a deep breath. “There is an ancient Chinese belief that speaks of four horsemen that will come and destroy the earth in the year of the horse. It appears that the legend is true, for it is rumored that the horsemen have been seen here in London.”

Sherlock looked skeptical. “It sounds like the Biblical legend that speaks of the four men of the apocalypse.”

An nodded. “It is the same. It would appear that we are in the end of days for this world.” An’s voice trailed off in sorrow.

Sherlock sighed. “There’s has got to be a logical explanation, other than some superstitious mumbo jumbo.” He snapped and then Sherlock glanced over at Clare, as he thought of the Golem they had seen. “Okay, so maybe there is something strange a foot. However, there has got to be a way to stop them. “

An nodded. “The portal must be closed through a great act of sacrifice.”

An’s bottom lip trembled. “The legend is not specific that I am aware of. It just states that a sacrifice of blood must be made at the proper time, so that the portal of evil can be closed. That is all I know.”

Sherlock sat down on the ground with a heavy thud. “Well, we aren’t going to find out anything locked up down here. Is there any way you can spring us, An?”

An shook her head in fear. “No, the Golem have been forcing us to do their bidding. If we refuse they will kill again, just like they did the baker.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, that was a nasty piece of work.”

An got up from the floor, carefully skirting around John, and stood before Sherlock. “It is obvious that I have been attacked, so perhaps I could say I was injured when you three escaped. However, you are going to need some help interpreting the Chinese texts that contain the stories about the end of days. I will talk to my cousin; he is an expert in ancient Chinese. In the meantime, you must go quickly. Come,” she beckoned, “this way.” An with the help of Clare pulled open a door that An unlocked, and they made their way through the darkened passages of an old abandoned sewer system. As they quietly walked through the tunnels, An whispered directions on how to find their way out to Sherlock. “I have to go now, I will be missed. Sherlock, can you find your way back?”

Sherlock nodded. “Thank you, for your assistance An.”

An looked at Sherlock in the eerie glow of the torch. “Sherlock, you must be careful. Your friend is not as you once knew him. He will reach a point where you can no longer control him.” An whispered and then turned away. Sherlock watched her retreating figure as it faded away into the night, and then he frowned and motioned for John and Clare to follow him. No one spoke until they were out of the sewer and safely back at 221b Baker Street.

As they trudged upstairs, Clare looked back at John and Sherlock. “You two must have a lot to discuss. We will reconvene tomorrow, goodnight.” Clare locked eyes with Sherlock and then looked away as she made her way to John’s room. John and Sherlock didn’t speak until they were situated in Sherlock’s bedroom.

John walked over to his stripped robe and plucked out the black card. He then shoved it in Sherlock’s hand. “Sherlock, after tonight’s events you are going to have to take this seriously. I almost lost total control, raped a woman and killed you.”

Sherlock paced for a moment and then stood nose to nose with John. “I’m not going to kill you John, there has to be another way.”

John put his arms around Sherlock’s waist. “Sherlock, I will kill myself before I would ever hurt you. However, you must face the fact that well over the last few days, I have not been myself.”

Sherlock nodded mutely. “I’m going to take a bath.”

Sherlock lay back and let the warm water soak away the tension from his neck and back. He wasn’t surprised when a few moments later John slipped in behind him. Sherlock leaned forward to give John room to fit behind him. Once Sherlock was firmly between John’s legs he leaned back. John took some bath gel and began to wash Sherlock’s back. Sherlock sighed. Baths were definitely more of a pleasure these days. John worked up the gel into lather and then moved his hands around to Sherlock’s stomach and chest. Sherlock sighed with pleasure as John’s hands moved lower.

“No,” Sherlock thought, “I can’t let him distract me." John, we need to talk about what happened tonight.”

John’s only answer was to lick behind Sherlock’s ear. When John’s fingers made their way to a particular spot, Sherlock gasped. “Jesus, John maybe we should wait until…” Sherlock’s protestations trailed off into a useless whisper, as John became more aggressive with the physical stimuli he applied to Sherlock’s body. Sherlock’s head leaned back against John’s collar bone, so that John could see each response that flashed across his face.

“Ah, Sherlock, you are such a good detective. You know how I love to see your face when I am doing certain things to you.” John murmured into Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock smiled as he lay docile in John’s arms.

 

 


	8. Bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John collapsed beside Sherlock as Sherlock lightly rubbed his fingers across John’s face. John closed his eyes and smiled. “Sherlock, that feels so good. You know how I love to feel your fingers across my skin. They are so soft and yet I can feel the calluses on the ends of your fingertips from your violin playing. I revel in the contrast, you know?”  
> Sherlock let his fingers dance lightly across John’s forehead. “Yes, John, I know,” he whispered as he kissed the top of John’s head. As Sherlock stroked John his thoughts became dark and fearful. “John, I want you to know something. I want you to know that we will face the future together and that no matter what happens, I will stand with you and by you. John? John, did you hear me?” Sherlock asked lightly, his voice was still hoarse from screaming. John didn’t respond for he was fast asleep in Sherlock’s arms.

Sherlock lay in bed listening to John’s breathing patterns as he slept. The gentle snore was evidence of John’s slight case of sleep apnea; however Sherlock didn’t mind. The funny little whistle that escaped John’s lips comforted him; it was as if to say nothing had changed. Everything was okay. Sherlock reached over and kissed John’s bare shoulder. Normally John would have muttered in his sleep, or at the most looked up into Sherlock’s face with that shy sweet smile; however, this time John’s body stiffened as he quickly rolled over to face Sherlock.

“What is it, Sherlock? Is everything okay?” John asked in a clear, strong, tone. He was instantly alert and ready for any challenge.

Sherlock’s heart beat a little faster as he fought to control the ball of fear that churned in his stomach. John had been sound asleep, so how was it that he came awake that quickly? Sherlock knew that John had a soldier’s ability to switch gears from sleep to fighting mode quickly. However, even a soldier at peak efficiency had a delayed reaction to any given situation. John was instantly awake.

“Sherlock, are you okay? What is it?” John asked again.

Sherlock swallowed back the tears that made his throat hurt and burn as he held out his arms to John. John smiled and as he did Sherlock felt the mental stress that kept him constantly searching for intellectual stimuli, drift away into a cloud of euphoria. John pulled Sherlock’s naked body towards his own until they fit perfectly together. “If we could only stay this way forever,” Sherlock thought as John reached up pulled his head down for a deeper kiss.

“Sherlock, why did you wake me up? Are lonely my detective? Because if you are,” John said in between kisses. “I have a big surprise for you.”

Sherlock laughed as John crossed his eyes. “John, I want the surprise.”

“Good, for I have something new I want to try,” John said as he jumped out of bed.  A few moments later he came back with a blind fold, hand cuffs and some sort of long, pointy things.

“Sherlock, do you trust me?” John whispered as he held up the handcuffs.

Sherlock knew that John was not himself and that he should precede with caution, yet Sherlock craved anything new.  “New, God new was wonderful,” Sherlock thought as he gave John the go ahead.

Without another word John grabbed Sherlock’s arms above his head and handcuffed him to the head board of the bed. The next thing Sherlock felt was John’s hands firmly slipping some sort of collar around his neck and then John grinned down at his captive. “Sherlock, blindfold, or no blindfold,” John asked as he held up a small black piece of material.

Sherlock’s blue eye’s widened with excitement. “Blindfold, Doctor, please and put it on tight this time.” Sherlock’s vision was blacked out as John slowly slipped a blind fold around his eyes.

John did as Sherlock asked and then it was time to wait. “This was the worst and the best time,” Sherlock thought as he struggled to control his breathing. “I have no idea if John will be able to control himself or not.” Sherlock whispered to himself as he tested the strength of the hand cuffs by pulling up on them.  Then Sherlock waited and waited. Had John forgotten about him? For a moment Sherlock felt lost. What if John was gone? “John,” Sherlock called out in panic.

“Sherlock, right here, “John whispered as his warm breath tickled Sherlock’s cheek. “Now prepare yourself, for you have been a very bad boy and you need to be punished. “Then Sherlock felt the slight sting of the riding crop against his thigh as he began to shake with anticipation. Usually in these types of bondage John would constantly check with Sherlock to make sure he was still okay.

Sherlock remembered that he had often become irritated with John because he was so solicitous during their previous bondage games. “For God’s sake John, stop talking and get on with it,” Sherlock had growled at John in the past.

This time was different John didn’t check with Sherlock at all. Gasping with pain and pleasure Sherlock thought if he died tonight he wouldn’t care, after all he and John would be together in whatever after life there was, so what would it matter if his mortal body died. His heart was soul were tied to John forever.  New physical sensations threatened to overwhelm Sherlock’s ability to process each event, until finally Sherlock let himself be dominated by John. “How ever did John learn how to do all these wonderful things?” Sherlock thought just before he passed out.

When Sherlock came to John had jerked off the blindfold as was frantically undoing the handcuffs. “Sherlock, oh my poor Sherlock, are you okay? Please talk to me.” John’s voice trembled the same way it had when Sherlock had jumped off the roof of St. Bart’s.

Sherlock’s body was slick with sweat and he knew that he would be sore in places that he never knew existed before tonight. “John, God where ever did you learn all that?” Sherlock panted as he lay back on the pillows.

John crawled towards Sherlock. “Sherlock, you enjoyed that?” John’s voice was full of panic and skepticism.

Sherlock barely had the strength to sit up as he nodded in enthusiasm. “Yes, John, that was something new and you know how I love new.” Sherlock said slyly as he winked at John.

John collapsed beside Sherlock as Sherlock lightly rubbed his fingers across John’s face. John closed his eyes and smiled. “Sherlock, that feels so good. You know how I love to feel your fingers across my skin. They are so soft and yet I can feel the calluses on the ends of your fingertips from your violin playing. I revel in the contrast, you know?”

Sherlock let his fingers dance lightly across John’s forehead. “Yes, John, I know,” he whispered as he kissed the top of John’s head. As Sherlock stroked John his thoughts became dark and fearful.  “John, I want you to know something. I want you to know that we will face the future together and that no matter what happens, I will stand with you and by you. John? John, did you hear me?” Sherlock asked lightly, his voice was still hoarse from screaming. John didn’t respond for he was fast asleep in Sherlock’s arms.

Mrs. Hudson eyed Sherlock, John and Clare as they ate their biscuits and drank their tea. Sherlock walked stiffly across the room to put some more hot water on for the tea kettle, and as he limped past Mrs. Hudson she whispered. “Sherlock, you and John have to be a little quieter in your night time games. I thought for sure someone was going to call the police. You are so naughty. I would spank you, but is appears you have enough of that already.”  Mrs. Hudson scolded as smiled fondly at Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned and was about to come up with a pithy retort when the doorbell sounded. Sherlock tapped the side of his face and mused aloud. “Short ring, followed by a long, ring followed by a short ring, ah it must be An’s brother.”

John folded his arms across his chest. “Now, how in the world did you come up with that?”

Sherlock smiled wickedly at John. “Really John, you’d think from your lack of insight that you had been the one that was beaten senseless last night.”

John bit back his report as Mrs. Hudson ushered an Asian man into the kitchen. “He says he was expected. Next time you need to answer the door yourself. I’m not your housekeeper or your butler.” Mrs. Hudson chided cheerfully as he cleared away the small biscuit plates. She then turned toward their guest. “Would you like some tea and biscuits, dear?” She asked warmly.

The Asian man shook his head. “No, I am An’s brother. I don’t mean to be rude, but things are escalating quicker than expected. There was another killing in China Town last night. How long will it take you all to get ready to explore the Chislehurst caves?”

John frowned. “The what caves?”

Sherlock looked off into the distance. “The Chislehurst caves are under London. The caves are remnants left over from when chalk was mined below the city.”

John nodded. “Oh, yes, aren’t they supposed be haunted? Didn’t some guy mysteriously break his collar bone when attempting to spend an all nighter down there?”

Sherlock sighed. :”John, let’s not engage in idle speculation. We can all be ready in a few moments.” Sherlock said as he answered for all of them.

Chislehurst Caves

Sherlock, John, Clare and their new companion who had introduced himself as Jake (Jake had insisted that he go by Jake because his Chinese name was too difficult to pronounce. Sherlock had of course refuted this and they had wasted about a half hour of time as Sherlock showed off by carrying on a conversation in several Chinese dialectics.), stood at the entrance of the caves. The glow from their Coleman lanterns flickered on the walls, making it seem as if the interior of the cave was a level of Dante’s inferno. Sherlock shivered with dread as they all descended into the evil murky darkness.


	9. Chapter 9 The Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A high pitched scream filled the air, and then Sherlock remembered where he had heard the sound before. It was the screech of a Golem. The horrible creature came into view; it was even more hideous by flashlight. John was the first to react as he stepped forward and quickly wielded his sword out in a challenge. Sherlock took a deep breath as he watched John in action. The passionate way John fought filled Sherlock with desire and horror. His John so sweet, so loving, so sexually charged, hacked the creature to death in a manner of seconds. No one said anything as the evil creature breathed its last. When John was satisfied that the Golem was dead, he took a rag out of his pocket and cleaned off his sword. Sherlock tried to ignore the arterial spray that covered John’s shirt as he approached the rest of the party. “Let’s go, the Golem are going to smell the blood and this place will be covered with them in a few minutes.” John said as he motioned for the party to follow him.

As the little party made their way through the caves, Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust at the retched smell that filled his nostrils. “God, what is that smell?” Sherlock said as he covered his nose with his hand.

Jake shook his head and answered, “I have no idea. It smells like boiled dog crap.”

Sherlock was about to ask how Jake knew what boiled dog crap smelled like when everyone in the party froze. A large reptilian creature lay curled up in their path its sad eyes looked at them with indifference. “John, wait,” Sherlock shouted as John pushed himself in front of Jake. He stood before the creature studying it. After a few moments John laid his hand on the creature’s muzzle. He then turned to the rest of the party.

“It’s okay, she means us no harm. She is mourning for her mate apparently he is in Clare’s world and can’t figure out how to get back. Rathery is her name and she is a dragon. Her kind went into hiding after Saint George killed a dragon in Libya during the 13th Century. When the portal opened up between our worlds the Golem and Clare came into our world and Rathery’s mate when into theirs. Poor baby,” John crooned as he softly patted her side. She was a magnificent creature and even in the small pool of light from their flashlights her green iridescent scales glowed. Her large purple eyes regarded each of them in turn, until they finally rested once more on John. John’s eyes mirrored her sadness as he looked back at Sherlock and spoke softly. “We have to help her. She will die without her mate.”

The whole situation was surreal and Sherlock found himself wishing for a plain simple murder. “How are we supposed to help her?” Sherlock asked. For the first time he found himself way in over his head without a single idea.

John spent a few more moments conferring with the dragon and then he turned and addressed the small party. “We are going to have to go into Clare’s world. Once there we need to make a sacrifice and shatter the Ice Oracle. Apparently the Oracle is a magical oracle from earth’s past that was used to destroy the dinosaurs. It also acts as a portal between both of our worlds. If we destroy it everything will return to its normal state in Clare’s world and ours. Sounds, easy peasey, right?” John said casually as he shrugged his shoulders. When no one answered him John went on. “Anyway, she knows the way to the opening into Clare’s world and she is willingly to lead us there, in spite of the fact that dragons have sworn to never again have contact with the human race.”

Sherlock was the first of the party to answer John. “So, how are we going to get back?” Sherlock asked.

For a moment there was an empty, dark silence and the only sound was that of the dragon’s labored breathing.  John shrugged his shoulders again. “I suppose that’s where the sacrifice comes in. Anyway we don’t really have a choice, so what does it matter. We can’t just let these freakish creatures run rampart through London, now can we?” John quickly looked over at Clare. “Not you of course.  You are a lovely companion.”

Clare mockingly bowed in acknowledgement and then smiled at John. Sherlock looked from one to the other. He didn’t like how they seemed to have some sort of secret connection. “Can I be jealous?” Sherlock thought.

As if reading his mind John walked over and pulled Sherlock into his arms and kissed him deeply. Sherlock felt his knees go weak as John’s tongue explored the inside of his mouth. John put his arms around Sherlock’s waist to steady him and then John winked at Sherlock. “We’ll continue this mode of discussion later.” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock’s face was flushed and he felt a little self-conscious as the rest of the party huddled together with their backs turned toward him and John. Sherlock could tell that John was having trouble controlling himself, due to the fact, that John’s jaw was clenched as he looked to the side and swallowed.

“Well, let’s get to it,” Sherlock said coming to John’s rescue.

John smiled deeply into Sherlock’s eyes and for a moment he was the same old, faithful John. Sherlock smiled back. Everything was going to be okay, wasn’t it? John nodded a silent yes to reassure Sherlock.

Even though Jake was supposed to be their guide he passively let John take on the leadership role, as the dragon uncoiled itself. She was a huge magnificent creature and Sherlock felt sad that dragons and humans could no longer interact. The dragon looked back to make sure that they were following her. Her large grief filled purple eyes settled on Sherlock. Sherlock felt fear as he realized that the grief in the dragon’s eyes was not for herself but for him. The dragon then looked away as they slowly began to make their way through the caves. No one spoke and after a while Sherlock lost track of the time. It seemed as if they were just going around in circles. Then Sherlock had a terrible thought. “What if the dragon is just trying to wear us down, so that she can kill and eat us?”

John held up his hand for the party to stop, “We need to rest awhile,” he said as he sat down next to the dragon. Everyone collapsed to the ground and began to rummage around in their backpacks for food and water. As Sherlock took out a thermos of water, he uneasily eyed the dragon. What or who was she going to eat? John laughed at Sherlock’s expression. “Don’t worry, Sherlock, Ratherty is a vegetarian and she only eats once a month.” John said as he patted the creature affectionately. Sherlock and crunched on some trail mix. For a moment the only sound in the caves was the crunching of everyone eating. Suddenly, John and Clare sat forward. “SSHH, listen,” John commanded. For a moment there was only silence, and then Sherlock heard it. Slide, thump, slide thump, Sherlock felt he had heard the sound before but couldn’t quite place it.

A high pitched scream filled the air, and then Sherlock remembered where he had heard the sound before. It was the screech of a Golem. The horrible creature came into view; it was even more hideous by flashlight. John was the first to react as he stepped forward and quickly wielded his sword out in a challenge. Sherlock took a deep breath as he watched John in action. The passionate way John fought filled Sherlock with desire and horror. His John so sweet, so loving, so sexually charged, hacked the creature to death in a manner of seconds. No one said anything as the evil creature breathed its last.  When John was satisfied that the Golem was dead, he took a rag out of his pocket and cleaned off his sword. Sherlock tried to ignore the arterial spray that covered John’s shirt as he approached the rest of the party. “Let’s go, the Golem are going to smell the blood and this place will be covered with them in a few minutes.” John said as he motioned for the party to follow him.

John seemed to have gained energy from the killing as he led the party. His steps unlike everyone else’s were quick and purposeful. Several times he and the dragon had to stop to let the rest of the party catch up. “Come on, step it up,” John said in irritation.

Sherlock wasn’t used to John being this way so he spoke up. “John, we are all doing our best,” Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

John stopped and looked back at Sherlock with contempt. “Well, perhaps if you ate right, exercised, quit smoking and took care of your body you would be in better shape.”

Sherlock was getting angrier by the minute. “So, now I’m in terrible shape?”

John glared back at Sherlock,” Yes, you are in terrible shape. Your intellect is perfect beyond all measure we all know that. So, Sherlock are you surprised that the great Sherlock is mortal after all? Your mind can’t fix everything, Sherlock,” John said with contempt.

Sherlock felt as if he’d been slapped, as all the anger drained out of him and was replaced by hurt.

John looked down and then met Sherlock’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I don’t know what go into me. Maybe I need something to get into me,” John said as he suggestively smiled at Sherlock. John then came and whispered into Sherlock’s ear. “Imagine making love in this cave while being pursued by Golem, it makes me hot with desire to think of it.” John turned around so that his motions were hidden from the other members of their party. He softly brushed his hand against Sherlock’s crotch and smiled smugly. “It looks as if you feel the same way, Sherlock. Better get some cold water, for we can’t play with all these hangers on and a dragon too.” John turned away without another word and motioned for the party to follow him. Sherlock’s loins ached with desire as he stumbled along after John. “The old John would have never played him like this”, Sherlock thought in despair.


	10. John Watson My Warrior, My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock felt a feeling of dread when he looked at John, for it seemed that John had gained a whole new level of energy in Clare’s world. “Was Clare correct? Was John turning into some sort of monster, and if so what was the cure?” Sherlock thought as he struggled with the facts of their situation. Nothing was as it seemed anymore and Sherlock’s powers of deductive reasoning seemed to be failing.

John, Sherlock, Jake, Clare and Rathery glanced uneasily at the brick tunnel that stood before them. Each of them shifted nervously at the prospect of the unknown. The all stood looking on in silence, and then John was the first to step forward. “Well, no guts no glory,” he said as he ran into the dark passageway.

“Wait, John, stop,” Sherlock shouted to no avail for John was already gone. The rest of the party quietly made their way through the tunnel without a word to one another. Water dripped from the rounded ceiling, making creepy drip, drip, drip, sounds as it did so. “Where is John?” Sherlock thought. “How could he have disappeared so quickly?” As if in answer to his question a gust of wind blew down the tunnel towards them. As it picked up speed, Sherlock wondered whether they should turn back and find cover. Then Sherlock felt a pressure against his chest as he was thrown into zero gravity. Just as he thought he would be crushed the wind ceased to blow and Sherlock found himself lying on a grassy mountain top. The noise from the wind temporarily affected his hearing and Sherlock felt like he was under water.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked frantically.

Sherlock could barely make out John’s words and it reminded him of the effect a bomb had on his hearing when part of their Baker Street flat had blown up. Sherlock put his hands over his ears as a sharp pain reverberated through his head and then boom his hearing was back.

“Sherlock?” John asked again as he gently encircled his hands around Sherlock’s wrists.

Sherlock looked around at the rest of their party; they were all shaking their heads in disorientation. Clare was the only one not affected for she was already on her feet without a hair out of place. As if following his train of thought, John fingered his chin in puzzlement.

“I don’t understand why all of you except Clare had such a bad reaction to the portal. I came through it pretty easily.” John thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Oh, well, it’s just one of those mysteries I suppose.”

Sherlock felt a feeling of dread when he looked at John, for it seemed that John had gained a whole new level of energy in Clare’s world. “Was Clare correct? Was John turning into some sort of monster, and if so what was the cure?” Sherlock thought as he struggled with the facts of their situation. Nothing was as it seemed anymore and Sherlock’s powers of deductive reasoning seemed to be failing.

Sherlock looked over at John as his head moved closer to Rathery’s for they both appeared to be communicating. “Well, Rathery told me that her mate headed off towards the higher mountain tops.  Clare and I will take the lead since we can smell his scent the strongest.” John said as he motioned for everyone to follow him and Clare.

Sherlock and Jake trailed behind the rest of the party and Sherlock for the first time ever appeared to be at a disadvantage in this world. “What am I without my intellect and observation powers?” Sherlock thought dismally as he walked beside Jake.

John looked around his surroundings with wonder. “By God, this is a beautiful place.” John thought to himself. For the first time in years John felt young and free, he gave no thought to Afghanistan, no thought to unsolved murders, to failed relationships or loss of any kind. Under further introspection John wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. “This sense of freedom must be what heaven is like, “John mused.  

Sherlock looked around him misery. What a dismal place this was. The mountains were rounded and covered with fog like some ancient Japanese painting. The terrain was rocky, but not rough as the stones were as smooth as marble. The air was moist and filled with some kind of peaty smell. Sherlock sneezed. “This place is bloody awful; I hope we find that dragon soon.” Sherlock growled softly.  For some reason he felt that he was in a cathedral and that his voice should be muted.

John looked back at Sherlock’s scowling face and cheerfully bounded over to him. “Sherlock, this place is great, isn’t it? Are your allergies acting up again?” John asked in concern as Sherlock sneezed again.

Sherlock glared at John and was about to come back with a sarcastic remark but the look of joy on John’s face stopped him. “Since when have I thought of someone else’s needs before my own,” Sherlock thought as he smiled at John. “I’m fine John.” Sherlock replied as John’s blue eyes mirrored his own smile. Sherlock reflected how the color of John’s eyes was like the deepest blue of the ocean. As John’s gaze intensified Sherlock could feel his heart beat increase.

John lightly boxed Sherlock under the chin and whispered, “I’ve still got it, don’t I?”

Sherlock felt overwhelmed as he always did when John focused all his energy on him. “John, you’ve never lost it. How did I ever survive without you?” Sherlock said sadly.

John grinned at Sherlock with his crooked smile and replied, “I was so alone before I met you.”

Before Sherlock could answer back, Clare interrupted, “We need to pick up the pace if we are going to get to cover before nightfall.”

By the time they reached shelter, Sherlock was cold wet and exhausted.  The shelter was a Japanese style house and Sherlock groaned inwardly,” Great, just what I wanted to do is sleep on the floor. Oh well, maybe they have beds in Clare’s world.” Sherlock looked at the floor in the room he and John would share and he sighed when he saw the little futons on the ground. Jake and Clare roomed with two other guests, Jake with a male guest and Clare with a female guest and Ratherty stayed outside in a nearby cave.

Though Sherlock wasn’t looking forward to the futon mattress the steam bath was heavenly. It was located outside and was heated by natural spring. Sherlock leaned back and relaxed as the steam rose from his body. A few moments later John slipped in with him.

“John, where are your clothes? Did you just walk out here naked?” Sherlock asked in surprise, for John had always been the modest one.

John shrugged and slipped in beside Sherlock. “I don’t think anyone cares about that sort of thing here, Sherlock.”

Sherlock tensed as he waited for John to touch him; however John just snuggled closer to Sherlock. “I love you, Sherlock.” John said as he burrowed closer to Sherlock’s pliant body.

Sherlock swallowed for it always seemed surreal when John said those words. “I love you too, John.” Sherlock said as he kissed the top of John’s head.

Sherlock and John both leaned back enjoying the warmth of each other’s company and the water. Finally, John slithered closer and kissed Sherlock on the mouth. It was just meant as a kiss, but Sherlock felt like he was on fire as he kissed John back.  As John’s tongue made its way into his mouth, Sherlock marveled at how John could make a kiss seem like sex itself. As John tentatively explored the inside of his mouth Sherlock responded first slowly with wonder, and then hard and passionate. Sherlock leaned his head back against the side of the wooden tub as John moved his mouth over Sherlock’s neck. The stars were so bright in this world Sherlock thought as he tried to control his emotions. John had wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist and as always Sherlock had to fight the urge to cry as John’s hands rubbed his stomach. Sherlock gasped for air as he waited for John’s hands to reach their next destination.

“Sherlock, if you need to cry, please do you are safe with me.” John whispered as he gently massaged between Sherlock’s legs.

“John, what makes you think I am fighting the urge to cry? Are you doing that thing with the colors again?” Sherlock grunted as he changed positions so that John could reach him with ease.

John was breathing heavily and could barely speak. “Sherlock, I am not seeing colors. I have not seen them since we entered this world,” John said as he made an effort to answer Sherlock without gasping for air.

“Then how….,” Sherlock started to ask and then trailed off as John finished his sentence.

“Sherlock, you are my heart, my love, my strength, my best friend. When you hurt, I hurt, when you cry I cry,” John said as a tear slid down his cheek.

John then took a deep breath and dived underneath the water and as John’s mouth closed on an erogenous spot, Sherlock leaned his head back and let the tears fall. “John, my warrior, my love, my friend, “Sherlock thought as more tears cascaded down his face.

 

 

 


	11. Black Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No,” John cried as he rushed at the creature in fear and rage. John’s emotions got the better of him and as a result the Yoma quickly saw a weak place in John’s defense as its claws ripped his shoulder open. “Oh God,” John said as he sank to the ground in agony. The Yoma overcome with blood lust failed to notice Clare’s approach until it was too late. With a clean, thwack sound she sliced the Yoma’s head off its shoulders. The spurting head rolled across the courtyard in a grotesque windmill motion, until it flopped, unmoving against the wall.  
> “Ouuu,” Jake said as he turned his face away from the severed head.  
> Sherlock crawled over to where John had fallen and took him in his arms. John was pale and sweaty, but still conscious. “John,” Sherlock gasped as he ripped off his jacket to stop the blood flow. Sherlock, watched with horrified fascination as dark blood soaked the jacket. At first Sherlock thought that the blood was deoxygenated because of the deep color, but on further inspection, Sherlock realized the blood wasn’t a deep red, it was black. John’s blood was black.

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and for a second he was confused about where he was. Then as he saw John training in the corner with a wooden staff-a Bo, the events of the previous day and more importantly the night came back to Sherlock in a rush. Sherlock sighed with pleasure for he felt deliciously sore in all the right places.

John was wearing some sort of Samurai looking blue-grey garb, so that when he turned around to look over at Sherlock, his eyes took on the same coloring as the clothing.  John made a few more moves with the staff and then flopped down next to Sherlock. “Good morning, sleepy head,” John said as he kissed Sherlock on the forehead.

Sherlock fingered the front of John’s clothing. “What are you wearing John?” Sherlock asked as he ran his hands over the soft material.

John grinned. “Do you like it? It’s what the locals wear here. Apparently it keeps a person warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I’ve one for you too,” John said as he grabbed a neatly folded pile of clothing and thrust it towards Sherlock.

Sherlock turned the top and bottoms in his hands curiously. “How does this thing go?” Sherlock asked as he held the pants up.

John laughed. “I know you’re a proper genius and most likely know how to put on the clothing; however I’ll play. Sherlock, do you need me to help you get dressed?” John asked mockingly.

Sherlock flushed, for he really didn’t know how to put the clothing on. “Yes, please,” Sherlock humbly replied as he went and stood before John in his underwear.

John slipped the underwear off and replaced it with another garment. Sherlock took a deep breath as John’s hands slipped the new underwear on. John grinned as he slipped the pants on and showed Sherlock how to tie them, and then John slipped a sort of undershirt over Sherlock’s head, followed by the jacket which he showed Sherlock how to put on. “Make sure the right part is over the left, only dead people have the left part folded over first.” John said as he tied the top part of the clothing on Sherlock. Sherlock felt weak in the knees as John’s fingers grazed his nipples. John smiled when they immediately hardened. Sherlock took a deep breath and then knelt on the floor before he passed out.

John looked down at Sherlock’s glazed expression and sighed. “Come on, Sherlock, we need to train. We’ve already missed breakfast. I know you don’t like to eat, but I do. We don’t have time to play,” John said sternly and then sighed when Sherlock continued to stare up at him. “Okay, fine but it’s got to be quick and no getting undressed.” John said as he kneeled next to Sherlock. “Let me show you one of the attributes of these wide legged pants,” John said as he rolled up the pant leg, so that he could easily get to Sherlock’s groin. Sherlock gasped for air as John stroked him gently at first and then firmer, and then, “Oh God, harder,” Sherlock begged as he thrust his pelvis into John’s hands. John tried to make things last longer for Sherlock but when John observed Sherlock’s intense facial expressions and quicker heart rate, he knew it was time to help Sherlock finish.

Sherlock felt his body pulsing faster as he struggled for control. Clumsily he reached out to grab John’s pant leg and then just fell back. “John, I don’t want this to be one sided. I want you to also…,” Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he felt as if his whole body burst open in a final thrust.

Sherlock struggled to prevent himself from weeping as he lay in John’s arms. “SSh, it’s okay,” John soothed. “Don’t worry about me I can take care of myself. You just lay back and enjoy the sensation,” John whispered as he licked behind Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock’s next sentence came out in a hurried breath. “John, please I want to feel you in me.” Sherlock said as he looked up at John. His hair was plastered to his forehead in a sweaty mass and his facial expression was relaxed and yet full of tense need at the same time.

John brushed Sherlock’s hair from his forehead. “Sherlock, how do you look so innocent and full of lust at the same time?” John asked as he untied the front of his pants. He then untied the front of Sherlock’s pants, flipped him on his stomach and loosened the back of his pants. John teased Sherlock with his fingers for a few moments and then entered Sherlock with one strong thrust. Sherlock reviled in pleasure as John’s movements increased in tempo. The only two sounds in the room were the sound of Sherlock whimpering in coordination with John’s noisy moist thrusts. Sherlock didn’t bother to hold back the tears of joy when John’s hot moisture poured inside him, as well as soaking his thighs.  John lay on top of Sherlock gasping for a few moments before he shoved himself up to clean up.

Sherlock reached his hand back and tugged on John’s sleeve. “John, don’t go yet. I want to feel you.” John knew what Sherlock meant and frowned. He thought Sherlock most kinky in this regard, but John shrugged as he let Sherlock reach into his pants and run his hands through the remnants of John’s moist fluid. Sherlock reached in like a greedy child, until his hands were covered with John’s moisture, he rubbed it into his arms and hands. Then Sherlock brought his hands to his face and inhaled deeply. “God, John, I love your scent.”

John laughed and pulled Sherlock closer. “Sherlock, you are such a weirdo, I love you, even though you are a proper kinky genius.”

Sherlock didn’t answer as he became lost in the sensual feel of his wet hands.

John smiled shook his head and went to see if the outdoor shower was free.

About a half hour later John joined Clare in the training area. They practiced with the staff, swords, and hand to hand sparing. Sherlock showed up about twenty minutes later with a staff of his own. He and John trained together for a few moments and then John came and stood beside Sherlock, so that he could correct his stance. John leaned over and sniffed. “Sherlock, did you shower?” John whispered as he wrinkled his nose.

Sherlock looked down at the ground, tracing the stones of the training area with his foot. “No, I want to keep the smell with me. You know how I like your special fragrance,” Sherlock said as he tried to look bored.

John smiled at Sherlock and shook his head. “Come on pervert, back to work.”  

The rest at the shelter was almost at an end; Clare informed them at tea a few days later. “The weather is clearing up so we should be able to make good time by the end of the week.”

Jake nodded. “It will be good to get on the road again.”

John was about to reply and then frowned. “Clare, did you hear that?” John asked as Clare nodded in agreement.

Sherlock strained his ears, but didn’t hear anything. Then Rathery screeched out a warning just before a large black winged dragon like creature flew into the courtyard. On its back sat a glowing eyed Yoma. John, Clare, and several other warriors from the complex joined John and Clare. The black evil looking dragon looked at its enemies and decided that the odds weren’t to its liking and it flew off. The Yoma stayed to fight. As always John was the first to challenge it. John and the Yoma circled each other in order to size each other up. Instead of fighting with John the Yoma reached back and grabbed Sherlock by the hair. Sherlock cried out in pain as the Yoma dragged him across the courtyard on his knees. The Yoma laughed cruelly at Sherlock’s dilemma and then raised its clawed hand back so that it could rip Sherlock’s throat out.

“No,” John cried as he rushed at the creature in fear and rage. John’s emotions got the better of him and as a result the Yoma quickly saw a weak place in John’s defense as its claws ripped his shoulder open. “Oh God,” John said as he sank to the ground in agony. The Yoma overcome with blood lust failed to notice Clare’s approach until it was too late. With a clean, thwack sound she sliced the Yoma’s head off its shoulders. The spurting head rolled across the courtyard in a grotesque windmill motion, until it flopped, unmoving against the wall.

 “Ouuu,” Jake said as he turned his face away from the severed head.

Sherlock crawled over to where John had fallen and took him in his arms. John was pale and sweaty, but still conscious. “John,” Sherlock gasped as he ripped off his jacket to stop the blood flow. Sherlock, watched with horrified fascination as dark blood soaked the jacket. At first Sherlock thought that the blood was deoxygenated because of the deep color, but on further inspection, Sherlock realized the blood wasn’t a deep red, it was black. John’s blood was black


	12. Black Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears poured down John’s face for he knew if he didn’t get help soon he would die. For a few moments John gazed into Sherlock’s eyes as if seeing him for the first and last time. The curly brown soft hair, the pale white skin, the chiseled cheekbones, the shinning blue-green eyes, these were only the physical attributes that made Sherlock beautiful. John sighed peacefully as he thought how irritated Sherlock would be if he knew that his intellect was the last thing that John considered to be an attribute of Sherlock’s. “Sherlock, I’m not going to make it. Please promise me you will leave immediately after I have drawn my last breath. Promise me.” John insisted as tears poured down Sherlock’s face. John hoped that Sherlock would do as he promised for John didn’t want Sherlock to see his mortal body go through the death throes. As John reached up to touch Sherlock’s face, his body grew heavy and cold in Sherlock’s arms. He looked up once more at Sherlock and then John smiled. “Sherlock…” John whispered as he fell back into Sherlock’s arms.

John’s body shivered in shock, as Sherlock carried him inside and laid him gently on a mat. The front of John’s shirt was covered in black blood. As his body jerked with spasms of pain, John reached up and grabbed a hold of Sherlock’s jacket, “Ssssherlloock, “John gasped as his teeth involuntarily chattered together.

Sherlock felt a cold fear seize him as John grew paler by the minute. “John, don’t speak, you are wasting your energy. Clare went to get a healer; she should be here any second, so hang on John, please.”

Though Sherlock worked to keep his voice strong and clear, John could hear a tremor in it as he spoke, it reminded John of that horrible day that Sherlock had jumped off the roof of St. Bart’s. Tears poured down John’s face for he knew if he didn’t get help soon he would die. For a few moments John gazed into Sherlock’s eyes as if seeing him for the first and last time. The curly brown soft hair, the pale white skin, the chiseled cheekbones, the shinning blue-green eyes, these were only the physical attributes that made Sherlock beautiful. John sighed peacefully as he thought how irritated Sherlock would be if he knew that his intellect was the last thing that John considered to be an attribute of Sherlock’s. “Sherlock, I’m not going to make it. Please promise me you will leave immediately after I have drawn my last breath. Promise me.” John insisted as tears poured down Sherlock’s face. John hoped that Sherlock would do as he promised for John didn’t want Sherlock to see his mortal body go through the death throes. As John reached up to touch Sherlock’s face, his body grew heavy and cold in Sherlock’s arms. He looked up once more at Sherlock and then John smiled. “Sherlock…” John whispered as he fell back into Sherlock’s arms.

Sherlock gently shook John, but there was no response. “John, John, answer me.” Sherlock desperately shouted. Sherlock shook John harder this time, ignoring the blood that smeared against his jacket. “John, don’t leave me, please. I can’t stand this, this…fucked up world without you. Oh God, no, please John…” Sherlock’s voice trailed off in a sob as he began to make resuscitation attempts by applying mouth to mouth. When that didn’t work Sherlock began to pump on John’s chest in an effort to jump start his heart. He pounded on John’s chest hysterically until Jake pulled him away.

“Sherlock, he’s gone,” Jake said as he held a sobbing Sherlock to his chest.

Sherlock tore himself out of Jake’s grasp and kneeled down beside John’s body. Sherlock gently kissed John’s cold lips, and then reached for John’s sword. As Sherlock wobbled to his feet with John’s sword, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to plunge the sword into his own heart, after all his real heart-John, lay dead at his feet, so what difference would it make to actually deprive his body of breath. Without John his life would be a living tomb. Sherlock raised the sword and was about to take the plunge when a strong grasp ripped the weapon out of his hand.

“Sherlock, stop and listen to me,” Clare commanded.

Sherlock’s face was red from the effort it took to breath normally. As tears poured from his eyes, Sherlock uttered not a sound he just stood there weaving in silent shock. “Sherlock, you need to listen to me. John, can be brought back, but there will be a price. If we bring him back, John will be a Claymore.”

Sherlock’s throat was raw and he felt as if he were going to throw up. “Just do it,” Sherlock hollowly replied.

Clare gently took Sherlock’s arm, “Are you sure? John, will be for all intents and purposes, a monster-a demon.”

Sherlock grabbed Clare roughly and slammed her against the wall. “I don’t care if he’s the fucking Anti-Christ, just bring him back.” Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth.

Clare disengaged herself from Sherlock’s grasp as she and the healer knelt beside John. Sherlock watched in horrified fascination as Clare took John’s shirt off; his skin was ripped open from his clavicle bone all the way to the top of his rib cage. The red muscle tissue was in stark contrast to the black blood that congealed around it.  Clare took out a knife and cut off a piece of flesh from her upper arm and handed it to the healer. The healer kneaded it for a moment or two, covered it with some purple goo, and shoved it as far as he could in John’s wound.

Clare clutched her arm, as she walked over and stood in front of Sherlock. “You have to leave now,” Clare said solemnly.

Sherlock shook his head. “I’m not leaving his side.”

Clare took a step closer to Sherlock. “The healer won’t complete the process with you standing there, you have to leave.” Clare said firmly.

“Well, we’ll see about that. Where is that damn healer anyway?” Sherlock asked as he looked around. As the needle slipped into his neck Sherlock cursed himself for not being more alert to his surroundings. Then-darkness-nothing.

When Sherlock woke up he was lying curled up at the bottom of John’s feet. John lay on his back and was wrapped up like a mummy. Sherlock looked down at the clean outfit he was wearing and wondered who had dressed him. “God, it’s hot in here,” Sherlock thought as he fanned himself. They were in a different room than the one they had been in before, due to the fact that in the center of the room there was a well-like structure, which emitted warm steam from the heated rocks within it. Sherlock crawled over and the touched the side of John’s face, it still felt cold.

As the door panel slid open, Sherlock whirled around to see a small Asian woman standing in the doorway. “I am glad to see you awake, Mister Holmes. Your other friends went in search of the lost dragon, you are to remain here until your friend recovers,” She said as she sat a tray of food down for Sherlock and then without another word she was gone and Sherlock was alone in the warm, steamy room with John.

Jake cursed as he stumbled over yet another snowy rock formation. “This ice is so slippery,” Jake complained as he made his way to where Rathery and Clare waited for him.

Clare shrugged. “What do you mean? The ice is the ice.” She said as she turned away from Jake’s scowling face.

Jake started to say something derogatory, but stopped short. “I need to save my breath,” Jake thought as he huffed and puffed after Clare and Rathery.

They walked for what seemed like hours and then Clare held up her hand, as she beckoned Jake and Rathery forward to a cave. Jake was hoping that the cave would be nice and cozy. He was disappointed for the inside of the cave was ice cold. Jake stamped his feet and rubbed his arms to get the circulation back into them, as Clare started a fire. Soon they were all warm and full from eating the food provisions they had brought.

Jake looked over at Clare, “I’m sorry I’m so slow, I feel like I’m dragging you and Rathery down.”

Clare nodded. “You are; however if we have to stand and fight a pack of Yoma, we are going to need all the warriors we can. You are a slow traveler, due to the fact that you have to eat and sleep; however I have seen you train and you are very fast for a human.”

Jake stopped to thank her for the compliment and then decided to remain silent, due to the fact that he wasn’t sure whether he had been complimented or not. Pretty soon he felt his eyes grow heavy as his head drooped against his chest. The last thing Jake remembered was Clare’s glowing eyes fixated on him.

Jake awoke to the coldness of pre-dawn and he shivered not wanting to leave the warmth of his sleeping gear. Clare was already up and getting ready to head out. Jake yawned, as he reluctantly got up. “Good morning,” he said to Clare in an effort to remain cheerful.

Clare looked at him in confusion for a moment and then nodded as if prompted by an internal reference. “Good morning, Jake, how did you sleep?”

“Fine,” Jake lied for his dreams had been full of nightmares of evil winged creatures attacking them.

After a quick breakfast they hit the trail as Clare and Rathery tracked the other dragon’s trail. They had only gone a few kilometers when a giant winged blue bird swooped down on them, it quickly changed its mind about the party being easy prey when Rathery breathed out a plume of fire in the bird’s direction. After that the day wore on and on, until Jake almost wished for something to happen, anything to distract him from the plodding ahead in this frozen wasteland. When Clare stopped suddenly in front of him, Jake almost ran into her. “What is it?” Jake whispered.

Clare held up her hand for silence as a figure made its way toward them. Jake looked at Clare’s body language to see if this new stranger poised a threat; however as he drew closer Clare relaxed, “It’s okay, it’s only a Mountain Shaman,” Clare emphasized in a reassuring way. The Shaman had Asian features, except that his eyes were a brilliant green and his hair and flowing beard were whiter than the snow. Jake blinked to clear the nausea that threatened to overtake him. According to Clare, Jake had started suffering from snow blindness a few hours ago. However, Clare was as prepared as usual and had handed over a pair of snow goggles to Jake. He had to admit she was right, for when Jake put on the goggles his nausea and headache had instantly cleared up, until now. “What are we in for now?” Jake thought as he gazed into the glowing eyes of the Shaman.  



	13. How do I taste?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock watched in fascination as John sucked at the trickle of black blood that dripped down his thumb. “John, does your blood still taste the same?” Sherlock asked curiously.  
> John’s eye’s looked black in the dancing firelight as he held out his hand towards Sherlock, “There’s only one way to find out. Sherlock, the world’s greatest consulting detective, come here and suck my thumb.” John said.

Sherlock lay curled up at John’s feet for hours, he no longer felt his cramping muscles, in fact Sherlock felt as if he had turned to stone. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck as Sherlock lay unmoving.

“Sherlock?” John asked as if he had just been napping. “Sherlock, are you okay?” John asked again in a firmer voice.

Sherlock sat up and began to rub his legs to get the feeling back in them; after the tingling pain subsided he crawled over to where John was sitting up watching his slow progress with a worried frown on his face. He then reached out and pulled Sherlock to his side. “Sherlock, you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?” John asked softly as he slowly ran the outside of his hand along Sherlock’s tear stained face.

“You don’t remember? John, you…you died in my arms.” Sherlock whispered as he looked up into John’s searching eyes.

John pulled Sherlock even closer. “I do remember being wounded and in pain, but I don’t remember dying,” John said as he ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock reached up and opened John’s shirt and inspected the place on his body that had been torn open. It was completely healed with only a slight purplish look scar where once Sherlock had seen lacerated tissue and black blood. “I don’t understand,” Sherlock said in a confused small voice.

John laughed. “Now, that’s a change usually I’m the one saying I don’t understand.”

Sherlock ignored John’s remark as he stared straight ahead trying to grasp John’s miraculous recovery. “John, Clare told me that to save you, you must become a Claymore like herself. John, do you feel any different?”

John thought for a moment and closed his eyes as every sense opened up to his surroundings. It was as if he had been seeing in black and white all of his life and now all of sudden he could see in color. John leaned his head back to enjoy every sensory element in his environment. The sound of the water pouring over the stones in the steam heater, the sound of his own rapid heartbeat and the sound of Sherlock’s slower one, he could almost taste each individual water molecule in the mist from the steaming rocks, the smells of rice cooking in another part of the shelter, the smell of Sherlock’s fear, his tears, the smell of his very essence, God it was intoxicating. “Sherlock, this is wondrous, I only wish you could experience it with me.” John said as he drew in a long breath.

Sherlock stared at John in incomprehension. “John, I am so confused, I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t think, Sherlock,” John whispered as he slid his arms into Sherlock’s jacket, desperate for the feel of his warm skin. “Sherlock, God you are beautiful,” John said as he divested Sherlock of his shirt and jacket and ran his cold wet lips down Sherlock’s neck, stopping to lightly scrape his teeth against the pulse that beat in Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock lay compliant as John straddled over the top of him, slowly untied the front of his hakama-his pants, and slipped them off. John then began to massage Sherlock’s lower back, kissing Sherlock’s quivering stomach muscles as he did so. It didn’t take deductive reasoning to figure out where John’s mouth was going to touch next, still when Sherlock felt John’s mouth consume the intended target; he tried to resist the urge to thrust his hips upward.

“Sherlock,” John gasped into between gulps, “Don’t do that, don’t restrain yourself. Here let me guide you,” John grunted as he moved his hands firmly to Sherlock’s lower back. Sherlock let out a yelp of pleasure when John pulled his lower back up so that he moved deeper into John’s mouth. Sherlock felt as if he were in a surreal dream world as his body began to tense followed by a type of lightness that he only experienced when John made love to him. After his release, Sherlock lie in John’s arms and let the feeling of sweet nothingness take him.

As tired as he was Sherlock was a considerate lover, so with one limp, sweaty hand he reached in between John’s legs. John chuckled softly. “Sherlock, you are too spent, let me help you,” John whispered as he slipped off his own hakama. Without out a word, John moved Sherlock’s legs apart, he then prepared Sherlock for penetration with his fingers, gently talking to Sherlock as he did so. “Sherlock, am I using too much pressure? Sherlock let me reach further in. Yes, my dearest Sherlock, that’s the spot, is it not?” John whispered as he moved deeper in Sherlock, past any physical discomfort, past any repressions, past his mind-palace, to the place- the place that only he and John shared. Afterwards Sherlock fought the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him until John kissed his cheek. “Sherlock, go to sleep,” John said as he gently nuzzled Sherlock again.

When Sherlock, awoke John was already dressed with a bowl of rice for him. “Come, on my lay about flat mate, eat something. We’ve got to get going as soon as you are rested and feeling strong enough to travel.”

Sherlock took the bowl from John’s hands as he uneasily watched the unhuman like gestures John used as he trained with his sword. “His movements were just too fast,” Sherlock thought as John sped through a 103 movement kata that would have normally taken at least 10 minutes to complete. John finished in a minute and a half, without breaking a sweat.” John put the sword in its sheathe and sat beside Sherlock. “How are you feeling? Come on eat your rice, I added some onion broth to it and the one of the other guests said it tasted great. So, come on eat up.”

Sherlock glanced over at cheerful, strong John, “What about you? Didn’t you have any?”

John laughed. “Sherlock, I don’t need to eat anymore. I am a Claymore and God I am invincible.” John shouted as he bounced around the room.

Sherlock nodded sadly, ate his rice and then prepared to get a shower. A few hours later and he and John were making their way through the snowy mountains that their companions had traveled before them. John had to constantly slow down for Sherlock, but he didn’t seem to mind as he cheerfully pretended to rest with Sherlock at each stop. As the sky darkened John stopped at a cave, “Come on Sherlock, let’s set up camp for the night.”

Sherlock nodded. He felt so inadequate for he knew John was only stopping so that he could rest.  Sherlock made his way further back into the cave as John hurriedly started a fire, portioned out meal rations and spread out comfortable mats for them to sleep on. As he moved some of the rocks beneath their mats John cut himself. “Damn,” John swore as he sucked on his finger.

Sherlock watched in fascination as John sucked at the trickle of black blood that dripped down his thumb. “John, does your blood still taste the same?” Sherlock asked curiously.

John’s eye’s looked black in the dancing firelight as he held out his hand towards Sherlock, “There’s only one way to find out. Sherlock, the world’s greatest consulting detective, come here and suck my thumb.” John said.

Sherlock walked over and put John’s thumb in his mouth and then slowly moved his tongue around the cut, gently sucking a small amount of blood out for a sample. It wasn’t salty; in fact it tasted sort of earthy like a shitake mushroom. John’s mouth came open in an O shape as Sherlock sucked harder on his thumb. “Jesus, Sherlock that feels so good, please don’t stop,” John gasped as he staggered to the ground. Once he was on the ground John reached up and pulled Sherlock down next to him. “Sherlock Holmes, what am I thinking?” John asked he stuck his thumb back into Sherlock’s open mouth. Sherlock smiled, for it didn’t take a proper genius to figure out what was going to happen next.

As the pre-dawn chill filled the cave, Sherlock snuggled closer to John. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and sighed. “My poor Sherlock you are shaking with cold.” John said as he pulled Sherlock closer. After a few more seconds of shivering, John got up and stretched,” My poor Sherlock is freezing, so I am going to build a lovely fire and then back to the trail okay?”

Sherlock’s teeth were chattering together, but it wasn’t from the cold.


	14. City of Asmath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John frowned as Sherlock trudged towards him; he looked so cold and exhausted. “We need to stop for a rest. I’m getting tired,” John lied. There was no cave and John had to dig out a shelter from the ice. Sherlock made a few attempts to assist but John waved him off. “Thank you, Sherlock, but I can work better alone,” John said as he stretched a tarp over the dugout he had carved out of the ice. John piled two blankets on top of each other for Sherlock and for himself John put down a thin sheet of canvas. John turned around to get Sherlock and swore when he saw Sherlock lying curled up in the snow. John rushed over to where Sherlock lay and softly patted him on the cheek with a gloved hand. “Sherlock, come on, wake up.” John said firmly.  
> Sherlock pushed John’s hand away. “Sod off, John, I’m trying to sleep.” Sherlock growled.  
> John shook Sherlock roughly. “Come on Sherlock, wake up.” John shouted frantically to no avail for Sherlock had lost consciousness.

After two days in the snow, Sherlock was thoroughly fed up. John reached out to steady Sherlock as he lost his footing yet again. As if reading his thoughts, John patted Sherlock on the shoulder. “It’s okay Sherlock, you’re superhuman back home and I am superhuman here. No matter what world we are in we will always complement each other.” John said cheerfully as his breath came out in cold, foggy clouds. The end of Sherlock’s red, cold nose dripped constantly, so much so that he had given up on facial tissue long ago. Sherlock sniffed, wiped the end of his nose with his scarf and then hurried to catch up with John.

John frowned as Sherlock trudged towards him; he looked so cold and exhausted. “We need to stop for a rest. I’m getting tired,” John lied. There was no cave and John had to dig out a shelter from the ice. Sherlock made a few attempts to assist but John waved him off. “Thank you, Sherlock, but I can work better alone,” John said as he stretched a tarp over the dugout he had carved out of the ice. John piled two blankets on top of each other for Sherlock and for himself John put down a thin sheet of canvas. John turned around to get Sherlock and swore when he saw Sherlock lying curled up in the snow. John rushed over to where Sherlock lay and softly patted him on the cheek with a gloved hand. “Sherlock, come on, wake up.” John said firmly.

Sherlock pushed John’s hand away. “Sod off, John, I’m trying to sleep.” Sherlock growled.

John shook Sherlock roughly. “Come on Sherlock, wake up.” John shouted frantically to no avail for Sherlock had lost consciousness.

“Shit, damn it,” John swore as he swung Sherlock over his shoulder and made his way over to the shelter, gently carrying his precious cargo-Sherlock to safety. Quicker than John would have thought, he tore all of his clothes off and then Sherlock’s. “God, Sherlock’s body is ice cold.” John thought as he wrapped his warm body around Sherlock’s and covered them both with the blankets.

Gradually, Sherlock’s body retained some of John’s warmth and then like sleeping beauty Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled. “John, you’ll do anything to get me naked, won’t you?” Sherlock whispered.

John held Sherlock closer. “Sherlock, I would do anything for you. I would battle a legion of demons to save you.” John said as he kissed the side of Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock’s voice was weak and yet he still managed a witty come back. “Would you also take on a legion of angels, John?”

John pulled Sherlock even closer. “At the risk of being sacrilegious, I would fight God himself to save you.”

“John, do you think God is in this world or for that manner any world?” Sherlock asked softly.

“Sherlock, we’ve had similar conversations before and you know that I believe in a supreme being, well other than yourself of course.” John chuckled.

Sherlock didn’t answer for he was sound asleep. John took his pulse to make sure Sherlock’s heart was beating as it should. “It is well, dearest Sherlock,” John crooned as he rocked Sherlock in his arms. “It is well…” John thought as he fell into a fitful slumber.

A few hours later John came instantly awake. “Someone else was near,” he thought as he reached for his sword.

As the flap to their shelter flipped open John found himself looking into the fierce blue eyes of a shaman. “John, don’t fear for I am your guide to the city of Asmat-sanctuary.” John got dressed quickly and nudged Sherlock awake to do the same.

When the little party finally arrived at the gates of Asmat, John was amazed, for the wrought iron gates were covered with dragon sculptures and it seemed as if the dragons moved and slithered around each other. John stepped forward to get a closer look but on closer inspection the dragons were made of iron; nothing more. As the gates cranked open the shaman, John and Sherlock made their way into the city; and as they left the gates behind John could have sworn he heard a hissing sound behind him. There was no time for contemplation; however for there in the center of the city was Ratherty and another dragon, which could only be her mate. Ratherty spotted John and slowly made her way over to where he stood with her mate in tow.

John smiled into Ratherty’s eyes for her joy was palatable. Her once dark scales glistened and her magnificent tail swished in a circular motion as if it had a life of its own. Ratherty’s mate kept pace beside her in a protective stance; yet he wasn’t crowding in on her space either. Ratherty’s mate was a golden color and his large eyes were cobalt blue. “My God, he is magnificent,” John thought.

“Thank you,” a voice rumbled in his head.

John laughed as he walked forward and touched the male dragon’s muzzle. “What is your name?” John whispered in dragon speak.

“Tasmin,” the dragon echoed back. “John, your mate is tired and needs rest immediately.”

John glanced over to where Sherlock was struggling to remain upright.

A few moments later Clare and Jake joined them and quickly hustled Sherlock off to rest. Once Sherlock was safely tucked in John set out to explore the city. Asmat was a combination of China’s lost city and the city in lost horizons. John marveled at the green spiraled columns that adorned each structure. As John put his hand on a column he tried to figure out what type of material it was. The column was cool at first and then it felt warm-living. John quickly jerked his hand away and continued his exploration of the city. The city was laid out in a square; the center of the city was a vast open space with a well and a gong at the focal point. The largest building appeared to be some sort of school, temple, or training center. All of the other structures were obviously living spaces, for families went about their business much as they did in London. John watched them for a few moments and sighed as a wave of home sickness engulfed him. John jumped when he heard Jake ask,”So, what do you think of the city?”

John took in a fresh breath of mountain air,”Well, it’s not London, but I suppose it will have to do for now.” John said as he once more took in his surroundings.

“Well, you must be as tired as Sherlock. Clare and I will show you two around tomorrow,” Jake said as John tried to stifle a yawn.

“I’m not tired,” John prostested.

“Okay, have it your way tough guy.” Jake laughed.

John was mentally exhausted though and so he asked Jake a nonchalant question. “Okay, where is Sherlock? I had better check on him. So, lead the way,” John said as he gestured for Jake to take the lead. Their living quarters had the same green columns that adorned all of the buildings and the roof was covered with purple tiles that looked like scales. The front door was the same color as the purple roof tiles. John thanked Jake for showing him to him and Sherlock’s residence and then John waved good-bye as he went inside. The residence was smaller than it appeared from the outside. The main room was nearly empty, the floor was dotted with cushions here and there and there were large blue vases in each corner.

John made his way down the narrow hall to where Sherlock lay in a bed that looked like a giant round purple cushion. “How lovely he looks,” John thought as he watched Sherlock’s curled up form in fascination.

As if sensing John’s presence Sherlock sat up in bed and sleepily held out his arms towards John.

John laughed,”Oh, no you don’t, you almost froze to death on me,” John said firmly as he purposely averted his gaze away from Sherlock’s prying eyes.

“I know, John, I think I have frost bite,” Sherlock said fearfully with a tremor in his voice.

John was across the room in one stride, pulling at the massive silk-like comforter that covered Sherlock’s naked body. “Where?” John commanded.

Sherlock sniffed as he reached out and took John’s warm hand in his cold, clammy one. “Here,” Sherlock said as he guided John’s hand between his legs.

John started to get angry and then changed his mind. “Sherlock, let your doctor take a look,” John said as he lifted the blanket and slipped in beside Sherlock. “Sherlock, I have to check you for polyps.” John said as he wriggled his fingers deep inside Sherlock. For a few moments John moved his fingers in and out of Sherlock and then dove under the covers where his tongue took the place of his fingers.

As John took Sherlock fully in his mouth, Sherlock groaned and cried out in ecstasy, “John, God…” Sherlock’s voice trailed off when at the crucial moment John shakily replied as he turned his head to the side and took a deep breath, “Sherlock, it’s okay move deeper inside my mouth,” John said as he half gasped, half shouted.

Sherlock did as he was told as he leaned back, his glassy eyes appeared midnight blue as he shuttered.

John smiled at Sherlock as he attempted to speak. “Ssh quiet I know what you want,” John whispered as he undid his pants and sprayed his warm, moist fluid over Sherlock’s stomach. John watched Sherlock’s ritual of rubbing the fluid over his stomach, on his chest, only stopping to rub it on the pulse point on his neck. “Sherlock, my kinky detective,” John whispered as he kissed Sherlock deeply.

A few hours later as John lay in Sherlock’s arms John whimpered and then cried out in his sleep,”Sherlock, noooooooooooo…”

Sherlock shook John awake.”John, it’s okay, you’re safe.” Sherlock murmured as he stroked John’s forehead. John’s eyes flew open and they were full of terror. “Ssh,” Sherlock cooed. “What is it?” Sherlock asked softly.

John’s voice was childlike as he answered, “I had a dream that when you jumped from the roof of St. Bart’s you were really dead. You never came back and that even now you are just a ghost-a specter-a figure of my imagination.” John whispered.

Sherlock held John closer. “That is a troubling dream; however it’s alright I will always be with you.” Sherlock whispered as he ran his hands through John’s hair.

John hated the fear and anxiety that ripped at his sanity. No matter what Sherlock said or did John was inconsolable for he was terrified that he would lose Sherlock or perhaps he had already lost him.

 


	15. In for a Penny In for a Pound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hated the sad, frightened look in John’s eyes and so he jumped off the couch and ran outside into the snow. John frowned, “What is he doing?” John thought as he watched Sherlock bending over in the snow. He didn’t have long to wonder, for at that precise moment a snowball hit John on the side of the head. John jumped off the porch yelling, “I am going to get you Sherlock Holmes,” John said as he made a snowball to rival Sherlock’s. Sherlock and John played in the snow like children. They squealed with delight as they pelted each other with snowballs. John threw a couple of snowballs in the direction of the dragons and he and Sherlock oooed and awed when the dragons spurt streams of fire from their mouth. Clare watched Sherlock and John, her face expressionless. She watched as a snowball that John threw flew through the air and then as it met the dragon’s fire, it dissolved into a hot sizzling puddle at their feet. Jake came up beside Clare and for a moment neither spoke and then Jake asked a question, “Clare, does Sherlock know what is required of John?” Clare turned towards Jake, her eyes wise beyond the youthfulness of her body. “No,” she said softly.

Sherlock and John had made love several different times that night, “Each time had been more exquisite and unique,” Sherlock thought as he smoked a cigarette, looked out the window and watched Clare and John train together. John thrust and parried, until Clare’s arm began to tire. “My God, he is magnificent-strong. There is no sign of vulnerability about him here. Other than losing me nothing seems to scare him,” Sherlock thought, as he turned away from the window. He was exhausted and yet did not want to rest, as John had suggested earlier. Sherlock curled up on the bed in the fetal position and covered himself with a blanket. “God, I need something stronger than a cigarette. I wonder what sort of recreational drugs they have here,” Sherlock thought as he burrowed further under the covers. He fought sleep for a few moments and then Sherlock ceased to struggle, as his eye lids became heavy he drifted off into a deep slumber.

When Sherlock woke up it was dark outside and a chill had overtaken the room. Feeling useless Sherlock had made up his mind to go back to sleep for he was bored and his mental acuity seemed to be diminishing the longer they stayed here, when the bedroom door opened and a small woman came in and lit a fire in the hearth at the end of the bed. Language didn’t seem to be a barrier here so Sherlock asked the woman a question. “Excuse me, do you have anything here that gives a person a buzz, you know heroin, cocaine, pot, whatever?” Sherlock asked in his most charming voice.

The woman looked at him and giggled, which made her small almond shaped eyes go shut. “I think I know what you mean. Be back in a second okay?”

Sherlock leaned back in the bed in excitement, “Something new, God this was going to be great,” Sherlock thought as he put on a robe.

A few moments later the woman came back with a green shinny leather looking pouch. She smiled at Sherlock slyly, as she pulled out a needle and syringe and as she pulled back the plunger, it filled with a green fluid. Sherlock’s hands shook as he rolled up his sleeve. “Hurry, do it. I want to feel the needle in my arm,” Sherlock hissed as he pulled the woman closer.

The woman looked down at Sherlock, there was a slight sting and then the fluid poured through his veins. Sherlock waved the woman away as the room began to spin. He tied his belt around the head board and pulled at it, arching his body upward every time the drug forced its way through his system. “God, what a glorious buzz,” Sherlock thought as he sighed and arched his body again. It was at this time that John walked through the bedroom. “What are you doing?” John yelled, as he ran over to examine Sherlock. John looked into Sherlock’s eyes and asked,”Sherlock, are you high?”.

Sherlock giggled and answered, “Yes, Doctor.”

John took Sherlock by the shoulders and shook him. “Why do you have to defile yourself like this? Sherlock, what is wrong with you?” John cried out as he took Sherlock’s pulse.

Sherlock giggled again for it felt good to have the upper hand. “John, I have only begun to defile myself. Now, I want you to screw me hard.”

John let go of Sherlock’s wrist and turned away. He then turned around and took Sherlock’s pulse again. “You want to be screwed hard? You’ve been bad? Sherlock you have tested me for the last time,” John said as he ripped the rest of the covers off of Sherlock. He jerked Sherlock up to a sitting position and ripped off his robe. “You still want it hard?” John asked harshly.

Sherlock was already starting to feel his groin harden. “Yes, John come on take me now.” Sherlock whimpered.

John’s pants were already wet in the front as he took them off and positioned himself behind Sherlock; he then reached his hands around to make sure he could still reach in between Sherlock’s legs. Sherlock reached back, “Come on, John, God I can’t stand it anymore. I burn for you, go deep…” Sherlock’s voice trailed off in a groan as John acquiesced to his request. John lost himself, gave up control, and as he gave up his humanity, his eyes glowed yellow and his hands grew claws that he dug into Sherlock’s back as he thrust himself in and out of Sherlock’s backside. “You’re hurting me, John,” Sherlock cried out as John’s claws dug deeper into his back. John thrust faster and faster with only one goal in mind. “We are going to climax together,” John thought as he began to fill Sherlock with his warm fluid. “Oh God,” John gasped as Sherlock’s own fluid soaked John’s hands. John rocked back and forth wildly for a moment or two longer and then collapsed on Sherlock’s back. Slowly, John’s eyes turned blue once more and his hands became the gentle hands of a surgeon. John looked down at Sherlock’s bloody back in horror. “My God, what have I done?” John thought.

Sherlock rolled over on his back and then gasped and rolled back over on his stomach. John’s gentle voice whispered in his ear,” Sherlock, my love hold still.” John tended to Sherlock’s wounds and wept silently. He then gave Sherlock a sleeping potion and left the room. Still crying John made his way to Clare’s room. As if sensing his arrival Clare waited for John on the porch, the snow swirled around her and the wind whipped her white hair around her face, making it seem like an extension of the snow.

“Clare,” John said wearily as he climbed up the stairs. “Clare, someone needs to take Sherlock home. I can no longer trust myself with him. He is in too much danger here. Clare, can I trust you to find a guide to take Sherlock back?”

Clare smiled sadly. “I can find someone to take him back, but he won’t leave you. He is your mate.”

John’s tears froze on his face as he leaned towards Clare. “Clare, then I must end myself, for I won’t be the end of Sherlock, I won’t-I WON’T.” John shouted into the howling wind.

Clare thought for a moment and then looked back at John. “John, you have two choices. You can take your own life, or have someone take it for you, or you can have Sherlock put under a guard to keep him from following us.”

John was about to reply when Sherlock’s voice interrupted them both. “John, you will no such thing. Remember in for a penny, in for a pound.” Sherlock said. He looked pale and weak, which was in stark contrast to the firmness in his voice. “John, in for a penny, in for a pound,” Sherlock whispered as he kissed John’s face.

John felt confused and tired. “I gave you a sleeping potion,” John said.

Sherlock laughed, “I know I just pretended to take it.”

John looked amazed as he stared at his hero-Sherlock. “Sherlock, Sherlock, what are we going to do?” John whispered as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

“Well, I suggest we start by me not ingesting any recreational drugs. I can do that. The only problem I can see is how do we make you irresistible?” Sherlock said as he caressed the side of John’s cheek. “That’s just not possible,” Sherlock whispered.

“Right back at you, detective.” John whispered back in reply.

Sherlock clapped his hands together, “Well, that settles it then. After the snow stops we will start home.”

Clare looked over at John, “You didn’t tell him?” Clare asked.

Sherlock looked from one to the other, “Tell me what?” Sherlock asked.

John bit on his lower lip as he glanced over at Sherlock, as he tried to disguise the fact that he was cold.

“Come on, let’s go inside and I will tell you what you slept through,” John said as he gently took Sherlock’s arm and guided him to shelter and warmth.

John told Sherlock what the two dragons had told everyone in the village the previous night. To save this world and Earth, the inhabitants of Clare’s world must go to battle to gain control of the portal access. Only then could both worlds be saved. Sherlock frowned, “So, why can’t we just do battle from home-London? For that matter why not just destroy the portal?”

John smiled sadly at Sherlock as he was a small child,”Sherlock, the dragons made it clear that the sacrifice must be made here. After all can you imagine Mrs. Hudson doing battle against a golem?” John asked as he lightly ran a finger underneath Sherlock’s chin.

Sherlock sat up straighter, “Actually, I think Mrs. Hudson might surprise us all and do quite well.”

John laughed, “Sherlock,” and then his heart pounded in his ears as he looked into Sherlock’s green eyes. “Sherlock…”, John said softer this time, as if he were in a cathedral.

Sherlock hated the sad, frightened look in John’s eyes and so he jumped off the couch and ran outside into the snow. John frowned, “What is he doing?” John thought as he watched Sherlock bending over in the snow. He didn’t have long to wonder, for at that precise moment a snowball hit John on the side of the head. John jumped off the porch yelling, “I am going to get you Sherlock Holmes,” John said as he made a snowball to rival Sherlock’s. Sherlock and John played in the snow like children. They squealed with delight as they pelted each other with snowballs. John threw a couple of snowballs in the direction of the dragons and he and Sherlock oooed and awed when the dragons spurt streams of fire from their mouth. Clare watched Sherlock and John, her face expressionless. She watched as a snowball that John threw flew through the air and then as it met the dragon’s fire, it dissolved into a hot sizzling puddle at their feet. Jake came up beside Clare and for a moment neither spoke and then Jake asked a question, “Clare, does Sherlock know what is required of John?” Clare turned towards Jake, her eyes wise beyond the youthfulness of her body. “No,” she said softly.                               

 

 

 


	16. The Fascination of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John immediately responded. “Oh God, yes,” John groaned as he sucked hard and harder on Sherlock’s bloody fingers. When he had sucked them clean, John began to kiss Sherlock, biting his lip so that he could taste more of Sherlock’s blood. The villagers stood by and watched in horrified fascination, for they knew better than to disturb a creature like John. John sucked on Sherlock’s lip a few more seconds and then stopped. His breathing was heavy and the corners of his mouth had blood caked in them. John’s eyes went from golden to blue as he stared at Sherlock, as if it were the first time he had seen him. “Sherlock, what have I done?” John whispered.

John watched Sherlock train with pride, though he was not as strong as himself and Clare, he was fast-cunning. Even though Sherlock was convinced that he had lost his mental acuity in this world, John knew otherwise, Sherlock was still well…brilliant. It made John’s head hurt as he tried to keep track of Sherlock’s fighting strategy. Even before his opponent would make a full strike with the Bo, Sherlock would counter it. “God, he is brilliant-wonderful,” John thought as he watched Sherlock with a mixture of lustful longing, hero worship and just plain adoration. It was hard to compartmentalize just how he felt about Sherlock. All John knew was that Sherlock was his link to life, his friend, his hero, his lover. For a moment John let his mind drift over every aspect that he knew about his beloved and then the unthinkable happened, Sherlock left an opening in his defenses and wham his opponent hit him on the bridge of the nose.

Sherlock went down like a sack of potatoes, blood spurting from his nose as it spattered the snow. “Dear God, let him be okay,” John thought as he ran to Sherlock’s side.

Sherlock rolled on the ground holding his nose. “Jesus, God, shit, damn fu…,” Sherlock swore in every language he knew, as a result the swearing went on for quite some time.

John slid to the ground beside Sherlock and gently took his hands away from his blood soaked nose, ”Easy Sherlock, let me take a look,” John said softly as if were talking to a head shy horse. As John caressed the insides of Sherlock’s wrist with his thumbs, Sherlock settled down. “Okay, Sherlock, let’s see what we have here,” John said as he gently lifted Sherlock’s head and positioned it against his side. John eyes filled with tears for that beautiful nose was broken and he would have to set it. “Sherlock, I am going to have to set your nose, and Sherlock, it’s going to hurt,” John said as he inhaled the intoxicating smell of Sherlock’s blood. John became so engrossed with Sherlock’s scent, that for a moment he lost track of his purpose. “Someone bring me a towel, some wads of gauze and a small bucket of snow,” John ordered as he smoothed the hair from Sherlock’s forehead and rocked him slightly.

A few moments later the items John requested were handed to him by a frightened looking servant girl. John took the items and then said,” Sherlock, I need you to gently blow your nose into this towel,” John instructed. After Sherlock had removed as much blood as possible by blowing into the towel, he lay back against John. John felt as if he were going to throw up, for this was going to be so painful for Sherlock. “Sherlock, keep your eyes fixed on me,” John softly ordered as he put his fingers at the top of Sherlock’s nose and pressed firmly.

Even though it was cold outside, Sherlock began to sweat profusely as he tried to keep from crying out. “Sherlock, it’s okay, you need to scream out, sometimes that helps with the pain,” John said as he prepared to do the procedure once more. Again John placed his fingertips at the top of Sherlock’s nose and pressed against his nose firmly. This time Sherlock cried out and became so pale that John thought that Sherlock was going to pass out. John was sweating just as much as Sherlock as he placed his palms down the side of Sherlock’s nose, adding firm pressure and moving in a straight line. John did this twice and then looked at Sherlock’s nose from several different angles.  He then placed a finger as far up as it would go into Sherlock’s nostril and aligned the nose from the inside. Once he was satisfied that the nose was straight John helped Sherlock to his feet, led him over to the seating area and instructed Sherlock to hold ice on the nose as John finished up and stuffed little wads of gauze up Sherlock’s nose to assist in the  setting process. John then walked over to where Sherlock’s opponent stood. “Is he going to be okay?” He asked.

“Yes, no thanks to you. You should have had more control, you should have been able to pull the strike, so since you didn’t, I am going to show you how it feels,” John growled as he punched the man in the face as hard as he could. As the man hit the ground, John continued to hit and kick him, until the snow was spattered with Sherlock’s opponent’s blood. John knew he was losing control, but the smell of blood drove him to frenzy. “Oh God,” John thought as he felt the desire to kill spreading through his body. It was an experience so intense that it seemed almost like  sexual arousal. John threw his head back and his eyes began to glow. “This is it, God this is it,” John thought as he gasped for air, and then just as John was going to give in to his need, he felt a tug at his sleeve.

“John, stop, the man was only training hard the way he is supposed to. John please, you’re going to kill him,” Sherlock pleaded as he plucked at John’s shirt.

John turned around, his eyes glowing, in anger for his blood lust was aroused and he needed to taste it. He needed to feel its salty flavor running down his throat, “Get away from me,” he growled.

“John, no,” Sherlock pleaded again. “Please stop.” Then Sherlock got an idea, as a trickle of blood ran from his nose. He soaked his fingers with as much of his blood as he could and jammed his blood soaked fingers into John’s mouth.

John immediately responded. “Oh God, yes,” John groaned as he sucked hard and harder on Sherlock’s bloody fingers. When he had sucked them clean, John began to kiss Sherlock, biting his lip so that he could taste more of Sherlock’s blood.  The villagers stood by and watched in horrified fascination, for they knew better than to disturb a creature like John. John sucked on Sherlock’s lip a few more seconds and then stopped. His breathing was heavy and the corners of his mouth had blood caked in them. John’s eyes went from golden to blue as he stared at Sherlock, as if it were the first time he had seen him. “Sherlock, what have I done?” John whispered.

“You straightened my nose, almost beat my sparring partner to death, licked blood from my fingers, bit my lip and sucked the blood from that and this,” Sherlock said as he moved John’s hand discretely to the hardness between his legs.

John snatched his hand back. “Sherlock, you’re crazy.”

“Really you’re just beginning to figure that out?” Sherlock said softly.

John looked at Sherlock’s pale face, his swollen nose, the dried blood around his nostrils, and the dark circles under his shinning green eyes and gasped. “Sherlock, my God how you move me,” John whispered as he took Sherlock’s arms and stared deep into the depths of his beautiful sad eyes.  “Wait here while I tend to your sparring partner’s injuries,” John whispered as he reluctantly let go of Sherlock’s arms.

Sherlock watched John as he tended to the man he had brutally beaten. John’s face was full of stain and Sherlock could tell from the way his sparring partner was constantly nodding his head that John must be apologizing over and over again. Finally, John got up and headed back to where Sherlock stood waiting for him. When John reached him Sherlock became overcome with dizziness and fainted dead away in John’s arms. John scooped him up as if Sherlock were a rag doll and carried him back to their strange little house.

Sherlock woke up to the smell of something cooking. Whatever it was it smelled delightful and Sherlock’s stomach growled in agreement with his olfactory senses. Sherlock made his way into the kitchen and stood in the doorway as John prepared some sort of soup. As John stirred something in a pot bubbling with some sort of nourishment, Sherlock’s chest actually hurt as he thought of how much he loved John.

John turned around and smiled at Sherlock. “Sherlock, you’re awake. Good to see you up and about. Come here and let me see that nose.” John said cheerfully. Sherlock silently padded over to where John stood and let John’s gentle fingers examine his nose. “Aw, my poor Sherlock, you are going to look like a raccoon tomorrow. A cute adorable raccoon,” John chuckled as he put his arms around Sherlock and held him close. After a few moments John reluctantly pulled away and beckoned Sherlock over to a chair. “Sit down and have some of my noodle soup,” John said as he proudly brought a bowl of the delightful smelling soup and sat it in front of Sherlock.  Sherlock usually picked at his food if he ate anything at all; however this time he sipped the soup with a relish that John had never seen Sherlock apply to food before. As John watched Sherlock lap up the soup he was content just to stand there and watch him. “Even when he slurps his soup, he fascinates me,” John thought.


	17. The Riddle of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John fired, he saw men cry out in agony and fall, their terrified eyes full of shock and then even though he couldn’t see them, John knew that their eyes had lost their eternal light and stared unseeing up at the sky, dark, opaque, like cold glass marbles. John started to shout to the man next to him, but his words went unheeded as a bullet ripped through his chest. “He’s dead. He was 26, a surgical nurse, a father, a son, a being that was now as dead as the man John had just shot.” John crawled on his belly to where another of their team was struggling to get to safety, when John heard a ping, ping, and then felt a sting in his leg, he knew without looking down that he had been hit. John rolled on the ground in agony, wishing that nature’s pain killer-adrenaline had lasted longer. The world floated around him in a white haze, sounds far away, life far away, and then no light at the end of the tunnel, no lost loved one to meet him, there was simply-nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing…and then John opened his eyes and there was Sherlock.

Sherlock was feeling antsy, and bored. John had gone to some meeting about how when the snow drifts cleared a little, they would all play soldier and fight the bad guys. “Who cares if demons come in our world, for after all in the grand scheme of things, weren’t they already there anyway?” Sherlock thought. The way John had come to his rescue so gallantly during the sparing incident, yet again was starting to get on Sherlock’s nerves. “Was he getting tired of John? No never,” Sherlock thought. “Was the sex getting old? No, John was always open to trying new things. So what was it then?” Sherlock mused. A tap on the door relieved Sherlock of the idle thoughts that swirled around in his funny little brain like, fish in a tank. When he opened the door, his drug supplier, the small Asian woman stood at the door smiling at Sherlock. Sherlock looked both ways and invited her in.

She giggled as she handed Sherlock a box of needles, syringes, and vials of the green liquid. “I wonder what the chemical composition of the drug is.” Sherlock thought as he turned the green vial around in his hand.

The Asian woman took some of their supplies and gave it to the woman as payment and then she paused. “Are you bored? Because I would be perfectly willingly to do a three way with you and your partner anytime for free. Does that appeal to you, Sherlock?”

She rolled her r’s as she moved closer to Sherlock. “A three way, hmm, maybe that was just the thing he needed.” Sherlock thought as he stared at the woman intently. “Let me see,” Sherlock said as he pulled her closer and kissed her and even though her hands quickly found all the right places, Sherlock felt nothing.  He sighed, “Umm maybe some other time,” Sherlock said as he pushed her away and grabbed the box out of her hand.

Sherlock sat in a small, chair made of some kind of bamboo and thought about the chemical analysis of the drug and then the idea came to him. “By God, I will try it out on John and I will monitor his responses. Perhaps, this evening was not going to be as dull as he thought.” Sherlock mused as he rubbed his hands together, but first he must contact the Asian woman to see if she would come back later, once he had done this Sherlock waited.

It seemed as if days had gone by, before John came home. John had barely taken off his coat, when Sherlock jumped up and announced, “John, I’m bored. I’ve called a servant girl over and I want to have a three way.”

John looked at Sherlock as if he had grown horns out of his head. “What?” He asked.

A tap on the door made Sherlock jump up from the chair, “Well, John she’s here. What’s it going to be?” Without waiting for an answer Sherlock ran to the door and let the Asian woman in.

He then pushed her at John, “Okay, go at it,” Sherlock said as he gestured towards the bedroom.

John just stood there looking at the woman in shock. “Um, Sherlock, do you think we could at least discuss this?” John asked as he ran a hand awkwardly through his hair.

Sherlock pushed them both towards the bedroom, “There’s nothing to discuss, you two either get busy or I’m going to leave and find someone that will.”

Once they were all in the bedroom, Sherlock sat down in the chair and waited. John just stood in front of the woman as she seductively took her dress off, once she was naked, she turned around so that John could get a 360 degree view of everything. Her body didn’t turn Sherlock on, but he had to admit it was perfect, the small rounded breasts, the flat stomach, the full legs that wrapped themselves around John’s waist. Sherlock almost laughed at the bewildered look on John’s face as he dislodged her and deposited her on the bed.

When nothing happened Sherlock sighed jumped up from the chair and pushed John down on the bed. “Do I have to do everything? Come on, John.” Sherlock growled as he undid the front of John’s pants. “Fine, I’ll get you started,” Sherlock said in irritation as he spread John’s legs apart further, so that he could reach in between them with his mouth. After a few moments, Sherlock stopped and Asian woman took up where Sherlock left off.

 As the woman took off the rest of John’s clothes, he no longer seemed to be shy or inhibited as positioned himself on top of her. Sherlock watched curiously for a few moments, and then he undid his own pants, for he was starting to stick to the moisture that built up inside and beaded out in small drops on his hand. As John, pushed himself deeper and deeper, inside the woman, Sherlock could tell he was enjoying every minute, and suddenly the idea of a three way didn’t seem to be such a good idea anymore and as Sherlock approached the bed he had no idea where he fit in. The main goal had been to distract John so that Sherlock could inject him with the drug. However, Sherlock just stood there like an idiot, his shirt was still on, naked from the waist down, just staring at his erection.

Sherlock looked at the woman and John in disgust as they howled and pulsed inside each other. “Fine,” Sherlock thought as he approached the side of the bed and announced. “John, ready or not here I come.” Sherlock said as he positioned himself behind John and got to work. Somehow Sherlock got through it but he hated the three way, it was so messy and noisy. Maybe it was because he wasn’t in the middle; because John seemed to be enjoying it for Sherlock recognized John’s moaning as he experienced orgasm. Sherlock had no such luck and just lay curled up afterwards on his side. He had almost forgotten the real purpose of this whole act and as John lay there pulsing and shuddering; Sherlock propped his head up on one elbow and ordered the woman to get her clothes on and get out. After the woman left, Sherlock straddled himself over John and actually felt a pang of jealously as he watched John grow soft again. There was something about John experiencing the process with another person that made Sherlock angry. “The least he could have done was to fake it,” Sherlock thought viciously as he jabbed the needle into John’s neck.

Sherlock ran to the bathroom, washed himself up and then grabbed a tablet and a writing utensil to take notes on the experiment. At first nothing happened, John just lay there half asleep, grinning like a stupid idiot. “Sherlock, you have the best ideas,” John slurred as he lay back, rubbing the inside of his thighs.

“He disgusts me, right now,” Sherlock thought and looked away. Suddenly, John sat up and exclaimed, “What the hell?”

Sherlock ran to the side of the bed and took John’s pulse and after he counted for a few moments put the information down on the tablet.

John stared ahead of him and then looked at Sherlock, “Sherlock, what’s happening?”

Sherlock got in John’s face and said, “Something new.” Sherlock wasn’t particularly worried about John, for he had given John a lower dose than he himself took on a daily basis and also the servant woman had assured him that it was safe for a half-human, half demon to take, but the one thing neither of them counted on was John’s past traumas.

For a moment it seemed as if John was high, but as John clutched at Sherlock’s arm, Sherlock began to have his doubts, however like a true scientist he didn’t panic, he just wrote down the events as they unfolded. Sherlock dislodged himself from John’s grasp and sat back to see what would happen next.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, do you see what I see?” John whispered as he stared straight ahead at something or someone Sherlock couldn’t see and then John began to tell Sherlock about Afghanistan in such vivid detail that it seemed as if Sherlock was there with John.

**_Afghanistan, prior to meeting Sherlock_ ** _._

John had just finished operating on a soldier that had been wounded in the torso, when he heard the rat, tat tat of a machine gun, it sounded close. He glanced down at his blood filled boots, from the soldier he had just operated on, for reasons unknown to him, blood filled shoes after an operation were one of the things that bothered John the most. An explosion that rocked the tent brought John back to the present, “Jesus, we’re under attack,” John thought as he tried to shield his patient from flying shrapnel and debris. Then another explosion occurred, it was so loud that John couldn’t hear afterwards. He fell to the ground, dizzy unable to move, until the equilibrium in his ear canal straightened out. As he made his way to his feet to check on his patient, John cried out in horror, for only half of his patient lay on the operating table, the other had been blown to bits and absorbed into the desert sand.

John quickly ran out of the tent and grabbed his gun and joined the rest of his ambushed unit. As John fired, he saw men cry out in agony and fall, their terrified eyes full of shock and then even though he couldn’t see them, John knew that their eyes had lost their eternal light and stared unseeing up at the sky, dark, opaque, like cold glass marbles. John started to shout to the man next to him, but his words went unheeded as a bullet ripped through his chest. “He’s dead. He was 26, a surgical nurse, a father, a son, a being that was now as dead as the man John had just shot.” John crawled on his belly to where another of their team was struggling to get to safety, when John heard a ping, ping, and then felt a sting in his leg, he knew without looking down that he had been hit. John rolled on the ground in agony, wishing that  nature’s pain killer-adrenaline had lasted longer. The world floated around him in a white haze, sounds far away, life far away, and then no light at the end of the tunnel, no lost loved one to meet him, there was simply-nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing…and then John opened his eyes and there was Sherlock. “Sherlock,” John thought joyously and never knew whether he had seen Sherlock in the world they were presently in, or in the past on another plane when he needed rescue from the battlefield.

A few days later, Sherlock went over his notes about the drug, he still didn’t know exactly what made it work, he had used John as a cuddly lab rat, a means to an end like he had and would continue to use John and others in the future, for he was a scientist-a detective. But he was also something else, he was John’s friend and lover, and for the first time since he was a child, Sherlock was afraid, for he didn’t know how to be a friend or a lover, he just knew how to think. He just knew how to deduce. He just knew how to solve puzzles. Love and friendship and how they made one think and act were aspects of life’s riddles that Sherlock had no clue how to solve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. The Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shaman and John left, leaving Sherlock to contemplate the situation on his own. After a few musings, Sherlock became bored with battle plans and fell asleep. When he awoke someone must have carried him to bed for it was dark and Sherlock was tucked in tightly. He smiled when he felt John’s kiss on his cheek, “Goodnight, Sherlock,” John said as he jabbed a needle into Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock had just come down off a high and his skin was starting to itch. “God, this is maddening,” Sherlock thought as he scratched at his arms until they bled. When Sherlock heard the Shaman and John come through the front door, he quickly pulled down his sleeves and sat quietly in a meditative pose. “Sherlock?” John called as he softly entered the room. Sherlock ignored him and kept up the faux meditation, hoping John would go away. When Sherlock felt someone grab the back of his neck, he yelped in surprise.

John held tightly on to the back of Sherlock’s neck, “Sherlock, did you forget that I can hear your heart beat? You little shit,” he whispered. “I’ll give you five seconds to get up and come to the front room with me and if you don’t I just might make you do a three way because I know how much you enjoyed the last one.”

Sherlock looked up at John with tears in his eyes, “John, what are you talking about?”

John laughed. “Sherlock, I know when you are fake crying, just quit screwing around and join us. I’ll give you a few minutes to compose yourself and if you’re not out and in the living room, I will drag you in there myself. So, get with it. Oh and by the way, I know you’ve been using again and that had better stop, or I’ll have you locked away in the dungeon.”

Sherlock watched as John departed and wasn’t sure whether he was turned on or angry. “Angry sex with John,” Sherlock thought as he felt that warm pinching feeling pool around his lower extremities. “Oh John, I need you for a sec.” Sherlock called out.

John threw open the door; he was thoroughly pissed by this time. “What is it?”

Sherlock stuck out his lip and in his most pouty voiced he simpered, “John, come over here I need your help with this.” Sherlock said as he pointed between his legs.

John’s eyes instantly dilated as he glanced where Sherlock was pointing. “Sherlock,” John said as he put his hand roughly between Sherlock’s legs, “we’ve got bigger problems than you and I right now. Throw some cold water on yourself and get out there, NOW.”

Sherlock stood up and walked over and pressed his body up against John’s, “Bigger problems than this?” Sherlock whispered as he moved his body to where John could feel the hardness between his legs. As John struggled to control himself, Sherlock reveled in John’s discomfort. John looked at Sherlock in disbelief and hissed, “You little piss ant, I will deal with you later.”

Sherlock clucked his tongue, “Yes, Doctor.”

John walked out and slammed the fragile door, leaving Sherlock to laugh at his struggle for control.

When Sherlock joined the Shaman and John in the front room, he looked bored, yet alert. “Damn, look at him,” John thought angrily. The anger only lasted for a second as another thought wound its way into John’s mind, “Did Sherlock even care for him? Was he even capable of such an emotion, or am I the ultimate puzzle, something to solve and then toss aside.” The thought made John want to hide under the house like he used to do as a child, so that he could avoid a beating.

“John? John? JOHN,” the Shaman said as he tried to bring John back to the present.

John blinked and shook his head, “Sorry, please tell Sherlock what you told me this morning.”

The Shaman looked at Sherlock with his opaque blue eyes, “Sherlock, the plague horse has entered your world. The city you call London is in a panic as thousands die from the Black Death.”

Sherlock crossed his legs and leaned back on the sitting cushion, “So, what am I supposed to do about it?”

John walked over and knocked Sherlock’s legs to the ground, “Show some respect, Sherlock. Mycroft, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson are all at risk, for all I know they are dead already.”

Sherlock sighed, for he wasn’t through tormenting John yet, “What does it matter? If they were exposed to this Black Death, they are probably already dead. What can I do? Nothing, so it’s boring, you’re boring. This whole conversation is BORING.” Sherlock said as he propped his legs up again on the cushion.

John’s face looked like he had been slapped. “Sherlock, we can’t wait for the snow storm to let up. We are leaving tomorrow for battle and since you aren’t taking this whole thing seriously, you can just remain here.”

Sherlock knew from John’s tone of voice that he had gone too far and yet it didn’t stop him from putting in one last jab at John as he left the room, “Whatever you say, John, for you always know best.”

John didn’t reply he just looked glassy eyed towards the chair that Sherlock had occupied and then turned his attention to the Shaman.

The Shaman and John left, leaving Sherlock to contemplate the situation on his own. After a few musings, Sherlock became bored with battle plans and fell asleep. When he awoke someone must have carried him to bed for it was dark and Sherlock was tucked in tightly. He smiled when he felt John’s kiss on his cheek, “Goodnight, Sherlock,” John said as he jabbed a needle into Sherlock’s neck.

“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” John asked frantically.

The Shaman nodded, “He might wake up with a slight headache, but he will be fine. I will watch after him. Good luck in battle, John Watson.”

John smiled sadly, “Yes, Godspeed.”

When Sherlock woke up the next day it must have been about noon, judging from the light the shone in through the windows. Sherlock held his head in his hands, “Jesus, what happened?” Sherlock thought and then he remembered John jabbing him in the neck with something. Just as Sherlock was about to jump up and leave the room, the Shaman came in with a servant, “Sherlock, you must rest. The headache will pass in a few hours, but until then rest.” The Shaman said as he motioned for the servant to put a cool cloth on Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock sat up, ignoring the dizziness that assailed him, “Where is John?”

The Shaman gazed into Sherlock’s eyes, “They have all gone to battle.”

Sherlock tried to stand and his own voice sounded like a freight train, “How long ago? I must join them.”

The Shaman gently pushed Sherlock to the bed, “Rest.”

Sherlock glanced wide eyed up at the Shaman, “If something happens to him I will be lost.”

The Shaman nodded, “It is always easier to express feelings for a loved one when that person is absent. John knows what he faces and he has left a letter for you to give you strength. Now, rest you can read the letter when you wake up.”

Sherlock felt as if someone had jerked the rug out from underneath him, “What letter? I want to see it now.”

The Shaman shook his head, “After John has made the sacrifice I will show it to you.”

Sherlock felt the blood drain from his face as he bravely forced out the words, “What sacrifice?”

 

 


	19. The Pale Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock stood up and patted her on the shoulder, “It’s okay, Mrs. Hudson, it’s okay…”Sherlock said as he moved towards the window. An armored truck rolled through Baker Street and Sherlock could just hear the words, “The city is under quarantine, do not leave your homes unless you have a medical release pass, if no one has a medical release in your household, put the green flag out on your door and emergency supplies will be delivered as soon as possible, if you have dead in your house, put them in the white body bags that have been provided, if you are out of bags wrap up the dead as best you can and put a white flag at your door, noting how many dead are to be disposed of. God save the Queen. God save us all.” The announcement cut off and Britain’s national anthem played over the speaker.

Sherlock’s hand shook slightly as he read John’s letter to him:

Sherlock, I am not a poet or a scholar, or a genius like you, I am a soldier, so I hope you will cut me some slack as you read this letter. It is possible that you and I will not see each other again in this lifetime, so I will begin by telling you that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me and that no matter what I love you. I chose to let myself become half Yoma and I hope my sacrifice will not be in vain for I and the warriors of the city have gone to do battle against the three horsemen and their minions, the white horse of disease has already laid siege to London and the other three must be stopped, or they will destroy the earth and everything in it. Sherlock, there are so many things I cannot explain in this letter, but my heart is at ease knowing you are safe, therefore I beg you not to follow me Sherlock and know this if we do not meet again in this lifetime, know that I have been privileged to give and receive love from you.

To the Best of Times, Sherlock,

Love, John Hamish Watson.

Sherlock wanted to scream as he looked around the empty room. “Stupid John, stupid Doctor, stupid John Hamish Watson,” Sherlock cursed as he paced around the perimeter of the room. Walking outside, Sherlock stamped his feet to keep them warm and thought, “I am going to follow John and beat him within an inch of his life for doing this to me,” Sherlock thought angrily. In the distance Sherlock, could see the woman that had been part of their disastrous three way. “Hey, you come here.” Sherlock called out as he ran after the fleeing woman and swore when he realized that he was going to have to chase her down. Running as fast as he could, Sherlock grabbed the back of the woman’s coat and threw her to the ground. As she struggled beneath him, Sherlock wanted to choke her, instead he just held her tight. “You are going to get me a guide and you are going to get me out of here, because if you don’t I will end you.” Sherlock hissed as he grabbed ahold of the woman’s throat.

The woman realized she was no match for Sherlock and so she mentally adjusted and asked, “So, ivory man, how are you going to pay for a guide?” She spat.

Sherlock smiled triumphantly as he pulled a jade necklace out of his pocket, “What about this?”

The woman’s eyes grew large as she licked her lips nervously, “That is the Shaman’s, how did you get it?”

Sherlock locked his hands on the back of the woman’s neck and put his forehead on hers. “It’s none of your business and what is this about, calling me ivory man?”

She laughed and stuck her hand down Sherlock’s pants. “You are so white like ivory, except for one thing, you know?”

Sherlock grabbed her hand and squeezed it until she cried out, “Well, I don’t like that nick name and I don’t like you, so get me a guide now.”

A few hours later, Sherlock looked at his guide doubtfully, for he didn’t look a day over thirteen. As, if reading his thoughts the boy grimaced at Sherlock, “I may be young, but I am more than able to guide you, in fact I am glad you needed me. I was really starting to feel quite angry that I missed going to battle by one year, but perhaps now I can join up with the other warriors.”

Sherlock smiled benignly and thought, “What an idiot.”

They had traveled about two days, when the boy held up his hand, “The way to Warrior John is through there, “the boy said.

Sherlock felt there was something wrong with the situation and yet he had no choice, “Fine, let’s go and remember you don’t get the necklace until I see John.”

The boy nodded, “Yes, I agree.”

There was a cave that was just visible beneath the snow and the boy motioned for Sherlock to follow him. When Sherlock entered the cave, the boy was nowhere to be seen and Sherlock thought, “Shit, the little termite is nowhere to be seen.” It was the last thing Sherlock felt before he fell down a shaft. Sherlock felt his stomach churn as he fell through the darkness and then he felt a pressure and a squeezing, then nothing.

Sherlock opened his eyes to the sound of sirens, and as he got to his feet he felt horrified at the scene before him, for he was not at a battle, but in modern day London. Tanks rolled through the streets, and the people that were out on the sidewalks wore masks and looked terrified as they made their way towards their destinations. Sherlock made his way to 221b Baker Street, as fast as he could, he ignored the quarantine tape across the door. He tore off the tape and ran upstairs two at a time.  Mrs. Hudson was the first to see him, “Oh Sherlock, what have you done? It isn’t safe here.” She cried. For the first time Sherlock noticed that Mycroft and Molly were in the room as well.

“What the hell is going on here?” Sherlock asked, attempting to keep the fear out of his voice.

“Sherlock, we’ve all been exposed to the Ebola Virus, didn’t you see the warning tape?” Mrs. Hudson asked tearfully.

Without a word Sherlock sat down heavily in the chair nearest him, as Mycroft came and stood near him. “Sherlock, a third of the city has already died. London is now a closed city and under martial law, the city has run out of places to bury the corpses and have they begun to burn them just outside the city.”

Mrs. Hudson was the first to recover, “Well, Sherlock it seems to be the end of the world, or at least London, so you might as well have a cup of tea.” She said with tears in her eyes.

Sherlock stood up and patted her on the shoulder, “It’s okay, Mrs. Hudson, it’s okay…”Sherlock said as he moved towards the window. An armored truck rolled through Baker Street and Sherlock could just hear the words, “The city is under quarantine, do not leave your homes unless you have a medical release pass, if no one has a medical release in your household, put the green flag out on your door and emergency supplies will be delivered as soon as possible, if you have dead in your house, put them in the white body bags that have been provided, if you are out of bags wrap up the dead as best you can and put a white flag at your door, noting how many dead are to be disposed of. God save the Queen. God save us all.” The announcement cut off and Britain’s national anthem played over the speaker.

Mycroft stood next to Sherlock and quoted, _“_ _When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, “Come.” I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth._

_— **[Revelation 6](http://interlinearbible.org/Revelation/6.htm)[:7-8](http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation%206:7-8&version=NASB;)[˄](http://apostolic.interlinearbible.org/Revelation/6.htm)** **NASB**_

 

Sherlock glared over at Mycroft, “Well, now is a fine time to quote scripture. We need to use our heads not quote scripture.”

Mycroft smiled, “Well, brother mine, any ideas?”

For once Sherlock had no answers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 


	20. Armageddon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In order to keep his mind from the exhaustive boredom and anticipation of the fighting ahead of them, John thought about Sherlock and chuckled to himself, for he knew that even though he had left Sherlock behind for his own safe keeping, he also knew that Sherlock was bound to be boiling mad. Well, he would have to make it up to Sherlock at a later date. John smiled hoping that his punishment would involve a riding crop. “God, life had been so dreary before he met Sherlock,” John thought, as he practiced defensive moves with his sword. He thought of Sherlock that first day in the lab and he inwardly smiled at the memory of Sherlock winking at him and saying, “The name’s Sherlock Holmes, 221b Baker Street.” As John continued to train, he felt a chill of foreboding pass over him, “John, you are just imagining things, for Sherlock is safe back at the village,” he thought as he thrust his sword in front of him in a virtual killing strike.

Little wisps of snow stuck in John’s beard as he and Clare led their small army to its place of Armageddon.  John hardly noticed as the cold covered his face with an icy sheen, for he would soon be in battle and his skills he acquired as a Yoma would be put to the test. Even before they reached their future battleground, John could smell the enemy. Raising his hand, John ordered the army to stop for the night and once it was dark, he would order a scout to size up their foes.

Contrary to popular belief, war is not as active as it would seem, for it is fraught with waiting and stalking, which leads to boredom and stress.  John paced back and forth to keep from the cold from freezing up his limbs, for they could not light a fire, due to the fact that it would lead the enemy right to them. In order to keep his mind from the exhaustive boredom and anticipation of the fighting ahead of them, John thought about Sherlock and chuckled to himself, for he knew that even though he had left Sherlock behind for his own safe keeping, he also knew that Sherlock was bound to be boiling mad. Well, he would have to make it up to Sherlock at a later date. John smiled hoping that his punishment would involve a riding crop. “God, life had been so dreary before he met Sherlock,” John thought, as he practiced defensive moves with his sword. He thought of Sherlock that first day in the lab and he inwardly smiled at the memory of Sherlock winking at him and saying, “The name’s Sherlock Holmes, 221b Baker Street.” As John continued to train, he felt a chill of foreboding pass over him, “John, you are just imagining things, for Sherlock is safe back at the village,” he thought as he thrust his sword in front of him in a virtual killing strike.

John made his way through the camp joking and encouraging the men in an effort to keep their moral up. After he had done this John thought of the first time he and Sherlock made love, hoping the memory would keep him warm, he allowed his mind to recall ever detail. God, the smell, the physical sensations, the beauty of that day all came back to John in a rush.

Sherlock was in one of his black moods staring moodily out the window. John watched Sherlock as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair his brows knitted together.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John asked as he leaned forward in his chair.

Sherlock scowled. “It’s nothing. This bandage is bothering me that’s all.”

Sherlock was recovering from a gunshot wound and John was concerned. He walked over to where Sherlock sat. “Sherlock let me take a look.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine, John take a look, if that’s what it will take for you to stop yammering on.”

John lifted up the back of Sherlock’s shirt; the bandage had a spot of light seepage coming through. John gently removed the bandage. “Sherlock, just leave your shirt up. I am going to get a couple of things from my bag.”

When John came back he washed out the wound and applied another bandage. Sherlock’s white skin was perfect and John’s fingers lingered longer than he had intended. Quickly, John pulled his hand back.

When Sherlock finally spoke, John nearly jumped out of his skin. “John,” Sherlock whispered. “I think you need to readjust the bandage, it is bothering me.

John frowned.  He lifted up Sherlock’s shirt again. The bandage seemed fine to him. “Sherlock, everything looks fine.”

“John, do you think I am the most observant person you’ve ever known?”

For some reason John shivered, Sherlock’s low dulcet voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “Sherlock, yes you are the most observant person I have ever met.  Why are you asking me this?”

Sherlock slipped off his shirt and stood before John. John didn’t back up as Sherlock stepped into his personal space.

John’s heart was pounding as Sherlock locked eyes with him; Sherlock’s eyes looked almost black they were so dilated. There wasn’t a sound in the room except the music that blared from Sherlock’s computer, it was Holiday by Greenday.

They listened to the music for a moment and then Sherlock looked back at John with such intensity that John thought he was going to pass out. Sherlock reached forward and put his hands on John’s hips. John tensed but didn’t move as Sherlock pulled his pelvis closer to him. Sherlock then brought his lips so close to John that he could feel Sherlock’s warm breath on his cheek. John was as tight as a stone statue; however, he made no attempt to pull away as Sherlock’s lips met his and John thought he was going to faint when Sherlock slipped his tongue in his mouth. They stood there kissing each exploring the inside of the other’s oral cavity. Sherlock then pulled John towards him by the waist of his jeans and unbuckled his pants. He then rubbed on John’s penis and his excitement grew as he noticed that John’s erection was hardening by the second.  He began to massage the front of John’s crotch until he looked down and noticed that John had grown so large that his penis was now pointing to the side and hanging down through the leg opening of his underwear. Sherlock took a moment to record the image for future reference in his mind palace and then he pulled John’s pants down and took his penis in his mouth. John still hadn’t said a word however; he began to moan slightly when Sherlock ran his tongue around the tip of his penis. John began to lose his balance he felt so dizzy so, Sherlock supported John’s lower back until they were on the floor. Sherlock had a one track mind as he again took John in his mouth as if there had been no interruption. Sherlock then took a break for a second and lay back gasping aloud. “Oh God, John, John. Jesus, John I love you. You will be the death of me yet. You will break my heart”

John got his breathing under control. “Sherlock, what are you talking about? I would never break your heart.”

Sherlock’s eyes looked so wise and sad that John swallowed. “Whatever you say John darling, I am just repeating something Irene told me.”

John frowned. “So, you won’t listen to me, but you will listen to a woman who claims she is gay, and then tries to seduce you? Did she succeed?”

Sherlock smiled. “Irene always said you wanted me and that you were jealous of her. No, I’ve never slept with a woman.”

John frowned. “What about Jeannie?”

“Nope, just a little foreplay and a bath or two together.” Sherlock met John’s gaze full on.

“So, you’ve always been gay, then?” John asked.

Sherlock smiled that sad smile that drove John nuts. “John, you are the first person I have slept with.”

John felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh God, Sherlock, …I’m not sure if we should continue to…”

“My clean shaven Doctor, don’t tell me you are going to lose your composure now? I may not have actually slept with another person, however, I have watched tons of porn on the computer and I have experimented by myself.”

“You mean when I thought you were hard at work on your computer, you were actually watching porn?” John sounded outraged.

“John, I assure you I was hard at work. Very hard, in fact one time I was jerking myself off under the table while you sat in your chair and sometimes I would sneak into your room at night just to watch you sleep. I remember there were times that I hurt I wanted you so bad.”

John snuggled next to Sherlock. “My poor darling Sherlock, you have suffered. Oh, and please never think I will hurt you. I would rather die first. Now let’s get some sleep. Maybe we should get a shower first.” John breathed in the smell of Sherlock. He smelt like sweat, sex, and something else a sweet yet strong arid odor. John breathed deep and licked Sherlock’s arm. “Never mind I love the way you smell right now. If I had any blood pressure left in me I would take you now. Sherlock and John lay in bed kissing and fondling each other. Eventually John fell asleep in Sherlock’s arms.

“John? John? Doctor Watson?”  A shrill voice asked.

John looked down at the scout in resentment of the interruption of his trip down memory lane, “What is it? John asked harshly.

“I have the report of our enemy sir.” The scout replied nervously, as he licked his lips, for he was hoping that John was not displeased with him.

“Fine, report,” John ordered.  As the scout rambled off how many men and demons there were John kept track of them all; however he stopped the scout at the end of his report. “What was that last thing you said?”

“The Yoma’s were positioned…”

“No not that. What about the horsemen, repeat that,” John snapped.

“There were three horseman and the horses were Red, Black, and a type of Pale horse.” The scout replied in a trembling voice.

“Where is the white/pale horse of pestilence?” John asked aloud, as his breath came out in foggy tendrils.

Until now John had not noticed the Shaman’s arrival, “The horse of pestilence is in London.” The Shaman replied.

“Oh my God,” John said as he thought of his friends. “Well, I thank God Sherlock is safe here.” John said aloud as he breathed a sigh of relief.

The scout looked troubled, “You mean the man who was with you the one you call Sherlock?”

John nodded, dreading the answer, “Yes, why?”

The scout’s eyes were large and round, “He went back through the tunnel. He went home to London.”

John felt as if someone had sucked all the air out of his body, “Oh my God, no..Sherlock. Sherlock…” He whispered as Sherlock’s whispered name went from his warm mouth and then faded away in a cold cloud of fog.

 


	21. Human?

Try as he might Sherlock couldn’t calculate how to deal with so many problems, as he muttered to himself, “John, in another world fighting demons, Mycroft, Molly and Mrs. Hudson and myself exposed to Ebola virus, no one is showing signs yet but….”

Mrs. Hudson came over and gently put her hand on Sherlock’s arm, “Sherlock, dear come, sit down and rest, you look terrible.”

Sherlock glared down at her in annoyance and then glanced around the room at the pale tense faces that looked at him with a mixture of hope and pity. Sherlock knew what they wanted to ask but didn’t dare and Sherlock couldn’t bear to utter John’s name to explain. “I am a human calculator, an amalgamation of facts, figures, I deduce, detect, I don’t worry for I am a proper genius. A proper genius not a lover…” Sherlock thought as the old familiar burning churned in his stomach and as Sherlock glanced back at the three faces that observed him, he began to panic, for Sherlock knew they knew, they knew that he was in fact destructible-human, made weak by his love for John. “John, my kryptonite,” Sherlock thought as he struggled to maintain centered. He could feel the anger starting to rage deep within him as he observed the pity that was being directed at him, for it made Sherlock feel as if he were trying to run on ice, slipping and sliding as an unknown assailant pursued him.  “STOP IT, STOP LOOKING AT ME, RIGHT NOW,” Sherlock shouted at the top of his lungs as he picked up a glass beaker that sat on the kitchen counter and slammed it into the wall, one by one he broke them all, throwing them so hard that shards of glass sprayed up in the air like fireworks.

When he was through Sherlock sank to the ground, seemingly obsessed with the piles of glass around him, finally he raised his head and Mycroft walked over and held out his hand to help Sherlock up, Sherlock was about to refuse, but thought better of it as his feet slid on the uneven floor. “Sherlock, now you know what is like in our funny little brains.”

Sherlock wrenched his hand from Mycroft’s grasp and began to pace back and forth, recalling every fact he knew about the Ebola virus. After a few fruitless deductions, Sherlock left the room and made his way down the hall, down the hall to a room normally kept locked, a room where once a dead boy’s shoes resided, a place of mildew and neglect, a place where Sherlock could keep secrets. Sherlock took a key out of his pocket, opened the door and quietly walked over to the fireplace as if preparing for communion in Church, he knelt down and pulled out a dusty red Moroccan leather case, carefully he opened it and sighed with relief when he saw the syringe, the needle glistening as a stray ray of light from a boarded up window shown across its sharp, shiny surface. Like a religious ritual, Sherlock took off his coat, rolled up his sleeve, prolonging the waiting as he carefully folded back layer after layer of fabric, until his translucent skin was bare, he then paused for a second to took a deep breath and plunged the needle in, throwing his head back Sherlock opened his mouth, his eyes glittered like emeralds, as he felt every nerve ending tingle, and as he reveled in the stimulation the drug gave him as if coursed through his veins, Sherlock thought, “Isn’t it ironic, that John has the same effect on me. He makes my nerve endings tingle, he makes my thoughts clear, John Watson makes everything right,” and as Sherlock’s eyes watered from the dust in the room he couldn’t imagine the world without his Doctor, his blogger, his lover, his friend, the very essence of  his soul. 


	22. Power of Demons

John stared at the messenger in horror, attempting to process what he had just been told. “So, what you’re telling me is that Sherlock wanted to follow us here and so in a futile effort to keep him safe, you sent him back through the tunnel to Ebola infested London?”

The man was clearly terrified as he stared into John angry face, his eye dark eyes, glittering with rage, “I…I…” The messenger stuttered.

As John advanced on the trembling messenger, the Shaman came and stood between them, “John, you have greater problems than Sherlock. You must focus on the task at hand, for if you destroy the three remaining horsemen, the fourth will fall.”

John sighed, fighting the urge to strangle the stupid messenger, “Fine, the scout reported that the horsemen and their armies are just up ahead, come, let’s proceed.”

When they finally reached the top of the mountain, John’s neck and jaw ached from clenching his teeth. As John looked down at the valley below them he fully expected to see hordes of  demons poised and ready to kill, however all there was in the valley were three horsemen. John glared over at the Shaman in annoyance, “There are just three horsemen there, so this should be easy right?”

The Shaman’s blue eyes glittered as he met John’s gaze, “John, look again and this time use your powers of observation.”

John felt a lump rise in his throat at the Shaman’s words, “Powers of Observation”, for all they did was remind him of Sherlock; however he took a deep breath and looked at the three horsemen again and then he frowned, “What is that blurry section under each horseman? It looks like the shimmering pictures of mirages that people have been noted to see on a hot day in the desert.”

The Shaman nodded, “Very good, John. Each shimmering mirage, as you put it, is full of hundreds of demons, the horsemen are in a state of meditation, when they fully regenerate, they and their demons will have the power to travel to your world. The horse of pestilence has already gained his full power and at this moment is ravaging your home. John, we must kill the other three horsemen before they regenerate or all will be lost. However, if we awaken them in the attempt they will immediately come out of their trance and attack.”

John frowned as he spoke to the Shaman, “So, if they aren’t fully generated wouldn’t they be less powerful?”

The Shaman looked back at John and spoke softly, “One horseman and his demons have already regenerated, so the remaining three will follow very soon. If you were to awaken the horsemen at this time, they would still have hundreds of demons at their command, John this will not be easy.”

For the first time in his half-human state John felt tired, “I don’t have time for this mumbo jumbo, I’ve got to rescue Sherlock,” John thought as he pulled a bow from his back, strung an arrow and after a few moments of concentrating, he let the arrow fly. Zing the arrow sliced through the air hitting its target and as one of the horsemen fell to the ground, a moaning noise followed and then all was silent. “Well, that was pretty easy,” John cockily said aloud to the Shaman.

He was about to string up another arrow when a deafening sound filled the air as a bubble formed around one of the horsemen, it grew larger and larger and then exploded into a mass of misshapen horrific creatures that crawled up the mountain towards them in scuttling, crab-like movements. 


	23. Big Brother

Sherlock sighed in relief as he laid back on the mildewed floor for as the drug coursed through his system Sherlock forgot what it was like to be him, forgot what it was like to be a genius, forgot what it was like to have a mind that moved at the speed of light 24 hours a day, and most of all he forgot the look on John’s face every time Sherlock hurt him with a careless word or gesture. The room felt hot and stuffy, so Sherlock slipped his shirt off, rolled it underneath his head, curled up and let sleep take him, for as long as he was high Sherlock didn’t have to dread the crazy, circus dreams that plagued his mind every night.

When Sherlock didn’t come down after a prolonged time, Mycroft hurried down the hall to Sherlock’s room, the bed was empty, the bathroom was empty, Mycroft went into Sherlock’s room once more, looked in the closet and for just a moment his mind traveled back to a time when he and Sherlock were children where games of hide and seek were the activity of the day, Sherlock laughing as he ran down the hall with Redbeard, his hair flowing behind him in a mass of unruly curls. Mycroft blinked and the ghosts faded leaving him with the grim task of getting the key to the room from Mrs. Hudson.

After he obtained the key Mycroft approached the door with dread, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the curling paint that hung from the door in unruly curls, Mycroft reached out and peeled a curl of paint from the door, letting it flutter to the floor while he summoned up the courage to open the door. “Take a deep breath, Mycroft and open the door,” Mycroft whispered to himself. As the door creaked open, Mycroft coughed at the musty smell coming from within, streams of light filtered in through the boarded up windows illuminating Sherlock as he lay curled up on the floor like a woodland animal. Mycroft coughed again as he made his way across the room and  bent down to Sherlock’s side. “Sherlock?” Mycroft whispered as he turned Sherlock over on his back. Sherlock’s skin was cold and for a moment Mycroft thought he was dead. However, as Mycroft took Sherlock’s limp wrist in his own, he felt a slight pulse. Mycroft then slipped his arms underneath Sherlock, carried him to his room, and tucked him in. For a moment he stared at Sherlock as he slept, his high chiseled cheekbones and white translucent skin reminded Mycroft of an alabaster sculpture-a cold statue, a work of art, with features frozen in stone, never to love, never to smile, never to laugh. “Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered, as he hesitantly brushed a sweaty curl from Sherlock’s forehead. He then turned around, pausing only once at the door to make sure Sherlock’s chest rose and fell, as it should, as it did for all living things.

Sherlock awoke his mouth was dry, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Quickly, Sherlock ran down the hall to the bathroom where he promptly threw up, he then sat of the floor for a few moments while he got his breath back and then turned on the facet of the tub. “A nice bath, that’s what I need,” Sherlock thought as he purposefully kept his thoughts from the events of the last few days.

Once Sherlock, was bathed, he felt like a new person, ready to face anything. “Something was wrong, why was the house so quiet?” He thought as he walked by John’s room, fully expecting to see it empty and was surprised when he saw a prone figure in the bed; Molly was also in the room as she bent over to take the person’s temperature.  “How dare someone take John’s bed,” Sherlock thought angrily. Storming into the room Sherlock was about to burst into a drug induced tirade, but stopped short when he saw who was lying in the bed. “Mycroft?” Sherlock asked in puzzlement.

Molly stood up her brown eyes full of sadness. “Sherlock, I’m sorry, he’s contracted…he’s contracted…”

Sherlock cut her off, “No, don’t say it and how would you know you only deal with dead bodies. You’re not a real Doctor.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft called weakly from the bed.

Sherlock started to edge forward, but Mycroft held up his hand. “Sherlock, don’t come any closer. Although, you’ve already been exposed, it would ease my mind to have you at arm’s length. Sherlock, I most likely will not make it through this.”

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest like a child, “No, you’re fine, Molly’s wrong.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said gently, “You have to grow up now, you have to be the strong one, and you have to be the leader. Your friends need you…I need you. You have to be the big brother now.” Mycroft whispered and then closed his eyes as he lay back on the pillow. 


	24. The War Horseman

John watched the creatures in horror for as they drew closer their grotesque features became clarified. Their skin was yellow in tone; their bones struck out at odd angles making them appear like evil spindly pincushions. John raised his hand to the sky and plunged down into the demonic fray of monsters, hacking anything his sword would take out. As members of his army fell beside him, John’s human half began to tire; so he summoned the beast within and submitted to the forces of darkness, allowing his demon half to kill the creatures as he made his way to where the two horsemen sat enclosed in their bubbles.

The longer he stayed in his demonic form the more his human half remained repressed as John gave into blood lust and became a killing machine. As he gazed upon one of the horsemen in his bubble, John barely noticed the look on his face as he sliced the horseman’s head off. Roaring in victory John turned to take down the next horseman, but just as John approached the bubble, the horseman blurred out of focus and was gone. John threw back his head and screamed and then his heart froze in terror for try as he might, John could not regain his human half for he had become a full Yoma-a demon.

Sherlock stared down at his brother and for the first time in a long time he felt helpless. A crash from downstairs brought Sherlock around to the present and he ran downstairs to see what had happened. Lieutenant Lestrade stood in the doorway, blood oozed from a large cut above his eye as he stood before Sherlock. Once Lestrade got his breath back he spoke, “Sherlock….Sherlock another horseman has attacked London. It is the horse of war, the whole world is now at war, Sherlock this is the end…the end of everything and I want to die with my friends. Sherlock did you hear me?”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly and found that he just didn’t care anymore for John must be dead…he must be. He looked back at Lestrade and said, “Lestrade…Greg…come upstairs, we will all face the end together,” Sherlock whispered as he turned away from Lestrade and headed up the stairs.

John looked around in confusion, “Where am I?” He thought as he rolled out of the street, narrowly avoiding a tank as it bore down on him and as he gazed around him John realized where he was he was home in London. Ignoring the panicked cries of the people that ran down the street, John made his way to 221b Baker Street.

Sherlock was a third of the way up the stairs when he heard Lestrade cry out in fear and then he heard a gun going off. Jumping down the stairs Sherlock grabbed the harpoon he had hidden under the stairwell and came to Lestrade’s aid. Lestrade had emptied a round of shots into a hideous creature’s abdomen; they slowed the creature, otherwise it appeared as if it hadn’t been affected at all. The creature turned to watch Sherlock’s approach and Lestrade took the opportunity to stab the back of the creature’s leg with a knife he pulled from his belt. The creature moaned and fell to the ground just as Sherlock reached it. He held the harpoon above the creature and was about to plunge it into the creature’s neck when something stopped him.

“Kill it,” Lestrade screamed, “Kill it Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked into the creature’s eyes and then faced Lestrade with such a look of devastation on his face that Lestrade stopped screaming. “Sherlock what is it?” He whispered.

“I can’t kill the creature because its John…John has become a full Yoma-a demon.” Sherlock said just before he passed out.


	25. Rain Drops Keep Falling on My Head

When Sherlock regained consciousness, Clare had her claymore poised and ready to hack the demon’s head off, Jake stood on the other side with a crossbow pointed at the monster’s heart and Lestrade had picked up the harpoon and was making menacing gestures at the creature. Sherlock sat up and crawled over to the monster’s side, the sound of its piteous whining noises overcame Sherlock, and he didn’t bother to brush away the tears that flowed from his red-rimmed eyes.

After a few moments of gasping for air, Sherlock stood up and pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at each individual that threatened the monster’s well-being. “Get back all of you, I will shoot whoever tries to harm him. Do not test my resolve,” Sherlock said through clenched teeth as Lestrade edged closer. After all the parties had backed away from the demon, Sherlock knelt down by its side, “John, it’s okay I won’t let anything harm you,” Sherlock crooned to the demon and then he paused, reached out and took its claw in his hand.

“Sherlock, that creature is no longer John, he will turn on you, you have to cut off his head,” Clare said as she restrained herself from advancing on Sherlock and the demon.

Sherlock smiled at Clare sadly, “No, he won’t hurt me, my warrior, my blogger, my friend, my doctor, my love, for John is my heart, he is my soul and if darkness overtakes him, then it shall overtake me as well. We shall face it together, in for a penny in for a pound,” Sherlock said as he rang his fingers along the demon’s bubbly, rough skin. He then turned away from the group and looked the demon-John, straight in the luminous orbs that it called eyes. “John, let’s go save London, let’s go save the world, the game is on,” Sherlock shouted as he held his wrist up for the creature to take. The demon took his wrist in its claws and squeezed so tight that Sherlock gasped, for if he kept up the pressure, Sherlock’s wrist would snap like an old tree branch. As if sensing its own strength the demon relaxed its grip and then raised its claw in the air, jerking Sherlock off the ground as it did so. After it let go, Sherlock fell to the ground in a pile, he then jumped up, demanded that Jake give him his crossbow and that Clare give the demon, the cross bow that hung across her shoulder.

Once Sherlock and the demon-John, were armed Sherlock smiled and said, “Come on, John let’s go kill a horseman or two.”

“Wait,” Clare said, “This is a suicide mission…you two will not be coming back.”

Sherlock smiled jauntily and said, “I’ve been on a suicide mission before, besides what does it matter as long as John is by my side?”

Clare moved in front of Sherlock, “Sherlock, this demon is not John and why it hasn’t killed you by now is puzzlement…”

Sherlock held up his hand for silence, “Clare, the outside casing is immaterial to me; the essence of John is present, now back away for you are trying our patience.”

Clare backed away to let Sherlock and the demon-John, pass. Lestrade shook his head as they walked away, smiled and said, “Look at how their steps are synchronized with each other, just like they always are.”

Sherlock and John ignored the chaos around them for the closer they got to the horsemen and their hordes of demons, the stronger the whirlwind vortex pulled at them. Several times demon-John had to help Sherlock to his feet until he finally walked at a 45 degree angle in front of Sherlock to shield him from bearing the brunt of the storm that raged around them.

When the horsemen were lined up in their sites, demon-John halted until Sherlock was parallel to him. “Well, this is it then, John,” Sherlock shouted above the din, “Just like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, except without that deplorable song, Rain Drops Keep Falling on My Head.”

Demon-John grunted and then they both charged ahead.


	26. Breathing's Boring

Sherlock pulled back his bow at the same time as John and it was no surprise to them both when their arrows found their target. The noise and screaming continued around them, as demon-John put his arms around Sherlock to protect him from the debris and then all was quiet for they were in the eye of the storm. There were so many things Sherlock wanted to say but words left him and he felt that the universe and whatever forces ran it were in a flux of irony at that moment, for Sherlock had never felt so safe and protected as he did when he lay in the arms of his demon-John. Sharp objects cut at Sherlock and demon-John’s skin until black blood mingled with red blood and human flesh merged with demon flesh and then there was a silence so intense that it felt as if the entire city and suddenly become sound proof.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down at his chest; it was not ripped open as he suspected it might be it was smooth, white, untouched. Ignoring the chaos that littered the streets of London in front of 221b Baker Street, Sherlock spotted a figure curled up in a tight ball on the step to his flat. Sherlock ran forward and knelt down, “John?” He whispered.

John sat up like a small child that had taken a very long nap, rubbed his eyes, and then looked over at Sherlock and smiled, “Sherlock, what is it?”

Sherlock opened John’s shirt, his skin was not pierced either, and just to make sure Sherlock slid his arms around John’s waist, until he was satisfied that John was unharmed.

“Sherlock, “John laughed and said, “This is hardly the place.”

Without a word Sherlock pulled John into his arms and kissed him fully on the mouth. He ignored the sounds of the city recovering from the horror that had almost overtaken them, as he slid his tongue into John’s mouth, twirling and twisting it around his tongue, like a snake squeezing its prey.

“I can’t breathe,” John gasped as he pulled away.

Sherlock paused and said, “Shut up, John, breathing is boring,” as he continued where he had left off.

A few weeks later and Mycroft slowly recovered, London buried its dead and cleaned up the debris, the dragons resumed their habitation in the Chislehurst Caves, Clare went back to her world along with Jake who wanted to work on developing a closer relationship with her and Sherlock and John resumed their activities with one another. The events that had overtaken London were talked about in the days to come and the four horsemen were brushed away as radical terrorists until finally the world agreed that London had been hit by a pandemic type of plague and nothing more, and the tales of the horsemen were talked about only by children who shivered in the dark at the memory of them.

 

 

 

 


End file.
